As the thorn pricks the butterfly, and
As the clouds cover the moon,
A child wails at the crack of the pistol.
The shot rings out so loud and clear.
As the blood descends from the butterfly's wing, and
As the tears drip from the heavens,
The life drains from the open wounds of
Another shattered family.
The crimson stains and blots the floor.
The cries of the gods rings high from above,
The salt water soaking the earth.
Another child deserted.
Another wife, mother betrayed.
An empty hole where her head used to lay
Is now covered as the memories are pushed away.
The mourners are haunted by the tragedy
As they try to reassure themselves that
It was all just a dream.
Her shadow still lingers;
He rests behind bars.
The butterfly falls, never to fly again;
The moon is hidden incessantly,
Light forever suppressed.