I’d let my wings fly
like the butterfly on high
I’d want to soar through skies
as I listen to the wind’s lullabies
but something keeps holding me back
like chains on leg they make me slack
whats this curse of the sluggards I’ve inherited
to observe life pass me by neglected
isn’t it better not to dream at all
why long for places beyond your soil
The butterfly landed on the window sill. She was amazed to see it, after so many had died after their environments were destroyed. She went over closer to look at it, then heard a whirring sound and then she realized that it was a machine, probably to spy on her.
I’d let my wings fly
like the butterfly on high
I’d want to soar through skies
as I listen to the wind’s lullabies
but something keeps holding me back
like chains on leg they make me slack
whats this curse of the sluggards I’ve inherited
to observe life pass me by neglected
isn’t it better not to dream at all
why long for places beyond your soil
Death. You only come up when my time is spent in mourning, you are a symbol of what could have been, or what has passed.
Butterfly, wings tipped up, bumblebee hums with frantic energy, wings buzzing in a blur, but the butterfly falls and lifts itself up again.
The butterfly landed on the window sill. She was amazed to see it, after so many had died after their environments were destroyed. She went over closer to look at it, then heard a whirring sound and then she realized that it was a machine, probably to spy on her.
Je regarde le papillon,
Dos à moi,
Il me voit.
Je sais qu’il me voit.
Il s’envole puisque je le vois.