The torn trail of deception,
one shattered heart
and a blackened rose.
Forgotten shattered fragile souls.
Little butterflies, children of lies drifting
alone on the winds of purgatory.
We are living a lie
a little white lie that was blown
out of proportion by the sands of time.
Poisonous words seep from a well of hatred.
Can this be stilled?
Or are we still going to be here.
Little Butterflies, children of lies.