Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing,
everything would be brighter
Such a yellow, way up high,
our world could be a lot lighter
Butterflies don't live here,
in a world of hate,
so it kisses the world goodbye,
soon discovering it's fate
Until the last butterfly,
was all ready to leave
One last chance left to fix,
-everything-
trying hard to please
The last, the very last,
on it's way to go
everybody changed their ways,
the hate began to slow
See how much a butterfly,
can change the people's ways?
Why were we even fighting,
and was it just a phase?
that butterfly was the last one
and it wouldn't live forever
Were we too blind to see,
and to late to make it better?