I am not really a butterfly child.. but here today i tell you of the life of the special butterfly children...
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I sit alone on the gentle green grass
yet the grass still bladed my soft and fragile skin.
The colour which was there
had faded away through a distant memory.
The warm crescent sun
which shadowed my shoulders
burnt a holes throughout my skin.
I'm as fragile as a butterfly, wings that break apart, wings which could never be spread.
When i look into the water
which reviles all truth through my reflection
water which crystallizes
oh i wish i could touch..
But i mustn't.. for my skin will become softer and fall apart.
Why was i born known as butterfly child..
when a butterfly can spread it wings and fly away..
While i sit here all alone.. on the green gentle grass...
