Cider Lyrics - Gwyneth Moreland

Of earthen gold the souls of trees 

Apples grown stout by ocean breeze 

Orbs of red so deep a hue 

Our union they were witness to 

Now they lie in ferment deep 

For in our bed a baby sleeps 

Hands that hold turn the press 

Young and old those that we love best 

Branches bare and the cellar waits 

Winters chill will not hesitate 

These treeless souls are bound to sleep 

What earth has wrought the earth will keep 

Hands that hold turn the press 

Young and old those that we love best 

What once was lost is made a new 

Our babies dreams full of me and you 

Round and round we circle down 

Liquid gold pours without a sound