Old man sits in apricot tree   He sees I and I sees he   Old man sweet as the fruit he's picking   Knows the rhythm of nature's ticking      Give a smile of tooth and metal   Winks an eye like a falling petal   Face a furrowed field of life   Tracks the years of the living knife      He I love   He I know   Seasons come   So fruitman go      Through the crowd I enter in   See the head of virgin skin   Frail the old man's hands I take   Peace be with you Sunday shake      Sweet old man he turns to me   Tries to tell me what's to be   He don't say no words at all   Tears from him like fruit do fall      He I love   He I know   See sons come   So fruitman go