it's overcast and lovely still   the apple trees on distant hills   are dripping maple, winter white   with hope I search on moonless nights   sing me sweet sweet songs of springtime      and say where there's apples made of gold   and I'll surely believe   say where I'll never become old   and I'll surely believe      you said these hours would come and go   like harvest at the noonday   the apple blossoms and Christmas snow   represent our futures   sing me sweet sweet songs of springtime      rosewood, the secret scents of childhood   the backyard to the fabled tales of love   sing me sweet sweet songs, and say where....