Show Remorse emorse Poor little butterfly I thought you knew I only chased you for your golden wings wings How could I tell you did not know these things As others do Poor little butterfly I did not know My touch would make your brilliant colors fade I never would have caught you to have made You suffer so Poor little butterfly So now you lie he Upon my hand the little feather things Of color gone and you have shut your wings And will not fly Poor little butterfly Do you not know That not for all l your staying can you get One color back Fly off And yet and yet You must not go i Cynic Cyme c. c |