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
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