• A mystery of mysteries
    Of this I will admit
    To see a butterfly
    In this barren wasteland

    For some time now,
    My health has been low
    And the doctors come by
    With their glasses and their gin
    I prefer a softer sound
    The breeze through the forest trees

    And then the forest faded
    And I was left only with twigs
    Brown dirt - a desert of it
    Covered the world of men

    I lay myself down under the sky
    And look up to the stars shimmering
    Yet as I stare at the unchanging sea of lights
    What should I see but a butterfly

    I lift up my hand
    For I wish to catch it
    And hold it to my heart
    But it's out of my reach

    Slowly, I stood, dizziness overcoming me
    But I ignore it
    My sights are set only to the butterfly
    That flaps its colorful wings like a beacon

    I will follow this little butterfly
    Wherever she shall lead me
    And once I catch this butterfly
    I'll find the freedom, so let me be