Hot air balloons over the pink clouds of Rapture,
the birds are singing to the wind,
the brilliant sun sings along,
Fa-la-la-la-la-ahhhh-lllaaa….
The butterflies are dancing above the roses,
the bees are making a beat
stamping, slapping, drumming
preparing for a feast.
In this place where wonder is a lust,
beautiful things would last.

But days passes too!
light becomes dark,
the sun hides behind the moon and the stars.
the clouds turn gray as they slowly cry
and the worms feed on the decaying flowers
the harsh wind takes the wings of the butterflies,
they can not fly; not anymore.
and the birds, oh my beautiful birds weep!
as the bees make irritating sounds
buzzing, fuzzing, popping the balloons.
and the beautiful things they gradually rot!

Oh my Rapture, my precious Rapture!
the only thing I feel within,
the ecstacy in my brain.
why, oh why?
why does Rapture turns to Despair?
the only thing that makes me feel an overwhelming pain!