I beg I cry, I will not die.
I beg I cry, I will not die.
I sing I dance I can not decide,
For the day I roar, for the day I die.
I lie I pray, to no one at all.

I wish you were here, my butterfly.
I want your face to touch mine.
Just once more, I pray.

I cry.

Your body limp, your pulse died.
My precious baby, my butterfly.
Your heart had stopped.

And so did mine.

So I stay, and so I say,

Mark come back, my butterfly.

Jack misses you, he waits and cries.
He stopped his work, his fans pray.
To come back, and play again.

And how do I know? You ask. I sigh.

Who would know more, then his.

Butterfly.