What a bloody fool to have thought you could run.
‘Cause in the end you’ve just been spun.
Spun from orchard to market and from bag to counter,
Now it ends here, with a dagger in your center.
You bare a name of color and blame,
But taste bitter-sweet and grew with rain.
I have no regret in making you bleed,
As I burst out every last seed.
Thanks for your sacrifice
My C-packed snack, you will suffice.
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