Everything I touch disintegrates into a thousand butterflies,
Which makes it hard to love someone,
For I never know how to control the flamboyant flapping of their wings.

Once the tangential transformation has caused their rise,
It's like trying to catch the midnight sun
in an attempt to focus on what each of the creatures sings.

Their swanly swirling in the air causes my consciousness' demise.
My thoughts seem on the run
from reason and the yellow insects play my sensation's strings.