Calvados

There's an old cart horse with a wiry mane Pulls a cart along a country lane Been rolling since before the break of day Tending the orchard, stacking up the hay The farmer sits holding the reins Guiding the cart through Normandy lanes Slow and steady is the way The way it was, the way it is, and the way it will remain, and so The apples will grow The barrels will roll Soon to become liquid gold And the Calvados will flow In the kitchen sits the farmer's wife Picking her teeth with a pocket knife Her soul a mess of blues and chicken wire She brushes the dog, spits in the fire Takes down the bottle, takes down the glass And pours herself a tiny splash The serum from the ancient sacred orchard's soil Perfumed with the product of their blood, and sweat, and toil, and so The apples will grow The barrels will roll Soon to become liquid gold The Calvados will flow And the apples still grow And barrels will still roll Soon to become liquid gold And the Calvados will flow