I would like nothing more than to lie on a bed of warm grass
As the summer rains wash my whole world away
Shower my soul crushing sins into the earth
The autumn leaves will bury me as my body is consumed by the soil
Roots from the willow trees will coil like a serpent around my body
Cold and blue from the winter snow
And proceed to drag me far below

My veins, once full of woe,
Now make a root system six feet deep.
Like my heart, my skin hardens to create a shield
that is tough and rough to the touch
What was once my limbs now multiply and reach out to touch the sky
Fragile limbs that bear fruits amongst its leaves

There is a story of me, and it goes as so:

A woman will find me amongst a garden.
She will take hold of one of my sins in her hands
And from it take a bite

She will be ******, as all women are.
The utopia is taped off, now the sccene to the worst crime
The fate of humanity now digests in her stomach
And everyone will blame her
And label her the First Sinner

But my fruit was poisoned from my sinful ways long before she took a bite.