Butterfly has spread its wings on TV Beautify the trees with the circlet of flowers Take a look on the face of nervous black sea What's wrong what's right is the question of hours
The paper is burning but people has come Has come for the paper but the paper is done The hands in the dust, the hands in blood lust The perfect condition to scrape the old rust
The wounds of the angles, the rising of ghosts Turning the future in what afraid most The mark of the beast, the mark of the sun Cracking the bones with the scream of your lungs
The wings of a fly, so broken and wild Gives me a shiver for the crook in my spine Fat is flowing and fills the eyeholes Displacing the rooms for beautiful souls