Again the minor tune of the bickering begins,
Sitting stagnant in the air around,
Slowing sinking into the walls,
Clinging to the structure and sticking to the ground
A wet cloth on butterflies once so eager,
Now they sit dormant waiting to fly,
Knowing not if they will be called upon,
Just sitting waiting to die
Bitterness flows through the air again,
Replacing something once so sweet,
Oh how I used to cherish you,
In the days before our lens went bleak
We used to laugh so joyously,
Smiles dancing on our lips,
Before the fruit went sour,
Before disaster hit
These days love seems but a memory,
Drifting far from shore,
Back then I was so happy,
But now I pine for more
Trapped in the house of misery,
Softly I begin to cry,
Quietly I'm mourning,
The death of the butterflies.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Again the minor tune of the bickering begins,
Sitting stagnant in the air around,
Slowing sinking into the walls,
Clinging to the structure and sticking to the ground
A wet cloth on butterflies once so eager,
Now they sit dormant waiting to fly,
Knowing not if they will be called upon,
Just sitting waiting to die
Bitterness flows through the air again,
Replacing something once so sweet,
Oh how I used to cherish you,
In the days before our lens went bleak
We used to laugh so joyously,
Smiles dancing on our lips,
Before the fruit went sour,
Before disaster hit
These days love seems but a memory,
Drifting far from shore,
Back then I was so happy,
But now I pine for more
Trapped in the house of misery,
Softly I begin to cry,
Quietly I'm mourning,
The death of the butterflies.
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