Hey butterfly Making pretty patterns in the sky You fly up, up so high But when youâre gone Whoâs gonna cry? Stop making us wonder why Why youâre so free to fly With the angels in the sky Until the day you die If you stay up in the sky Surely you will die Alone Broken My sweet, sweet butterfly Come home to rest On flowers pure And dance, dance In the sky no more.
are my dreams reality? every night i fall to sleep every morning i question actuality i dream about the dark vast deep
can we not call them life? in my dreams i am real living happy but also plight will what is true really heal?
everything around you can be fake emotional responses as you see fit enslaved by imagination, living is dank will there be a light out lit?
even now reading this i feel quite ponderous could this all be a dream like the Matrix? is life really this wonderous? or our brains programmed to do tricks
