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BUTTERFLIES


Butterflies are white and blue In this field we wander through. Suffer me to take your hand. Death comes in a day or two.

All the things we ever knew Will be ashes in that hour, Mark the transient butterfly, How he hangs upon the flower.

Suffer me to take your hand. Suffer me to cherish you Till the dawn is in the sky. Whether I be false or true,




 
 
 

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