Hon!
Snake talked you into an apple a day.
Dear,
Don't laugh but pout we've got to trudge away,
Covered with nothing but fig leaves;
We'll be forced our sweet garden to leave.

'cause darling eats pome--doom.
She couldn't bear to wait;
Till she ate that fruit, we were coddled.
But darling eats pome--doom.
Too bad it was our fate:
They'd not invented juice that's bottled.
Now we've got great grief. . .
Don't even have walking shoes.

Somehow, you quartered it with knife for a repast,
Which meant that our good fortune couldn't last.
Once that bright shiny skin was contused
By your bright shiny shiv, we were screwed. . .
Wish that damned tree hadn't bloomed.

Then darling eats pome--doom.
Last ditch--I tried in vain
And to the deity I groveled.
He, snarling, speaks: "Home's doomed;
That snake has caused you pain
Because she took its bait and gobbled!"
We've got snake-wrought grief,
Fig leaves to hide a crotch view.

[iTunes interlude]

"Go
And eat a sugar-heavy apple pie.
Try
To raise a brood in which one doesn't die.
Shouldn't taste forbidden fruit!"

But darling eats pome fruit;
Back there we could have stayed
If she just hadn't gone and gobbled.
We're parting needing boots--
Our feet must bear our weight;
With no arch support, we'll be hobbled
For that snake, we've leaves
To hide our shame. But let's screw.