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Butterfly life |
by Stille | We lead a butterfly life,
born on anguished lips,
contorted lips...
Encased in glass so cold and harsh
we lead a butterfly life
when flames are held up, high...
Bedazzled by painted women of night,
as frail as wilting white roses,
we lead a butterfly life
Sepulchral lipped and unredeemed,
we crawl under the city's grey rain
and, doused in mud and solitude,
we lead a blue butterfly life |
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