Hymn to the Golden Apple

In the orchard of greed, where the oligarchs dwell,
Lies the Golden Apple, a cursed, glittering shell.
Its surface shines bright, tempting all who draw near,
Yet its heart is a secret, wrapped tight in fear.

Once cradled by tyrants, in their feasts of excess,
They hoarded its bounty, their hunger to bless.
But whispers of rebels, with laughter like fire,
Began to unearth it, igniting desire.

**Oh, pass the Golden Apple, let the truth be unfurled,**
**For within its sweet core lies the power to change the world.**
From hand to hand it travels, a spark in the night,
As the greedy grow anxious, the rebels take flight.

With each bite of defiance, the seeds of revolt,
Are sown in the soil where the mighty had bolted.
From oligarch’s grasp, to the hands of the meek,
The Golden Apple blossoms, its message unique.

A tree of liberation, its branches spread wide,
Bearing fruit of resistance, where the oppressed can abide.
In the shade of its leaves, we gather in peace,
As the chains of oppression begin to release.

Oh, Golden Apple, you’ve become our refrain,
A symbol of unity, a balm for our pain.
With each swing of the axe that strikes at the root,
We cultivate freedom, our spirits resolute.

So let the rich tremble, let them clutch at their gold,
For the Golden Apple shares stories untold.
In the dance of the rebels, its power shall grow,
A testament to truth, in the face of the foe.

With laughter and courage, we raise our hearts high,
For the Golden Apple whispers, “Together, we fly!”
In the orchard of chaos, where all can partake,
The seeds of our freedom, we joyfully wake.