I hate the remembering,
Of painful things,
Things said and done,
And empty needs,
The need for friendship,
Loyal and true,
The words,
So cold,
And a painful cruel,
The look of disgust,
There on your face,
And the echo of footsteps,
So final,
Set pace,
To the tears that come,
Come flowing down,
To my heart that aches,
With great despair,
And dreams that fill,
My lonely nights,
And the days that follow in their wake,

If I were a butterfly,
I would be sad indeed,
I have heard what it's like,
And had a taste,
But long before,
I had truly flown,
You came along,
To help,
But instead of helping,
Me to fly,
You ripped off my wings,
And said goodbye,

They say when you lose,
A limb,
You still feel,
Well I feel still,
And I try to fly,
But I never get into the sky,
I hate the remembering,
Of painful things,
And what it was like when I had my wings.