Kill this butterfly.

A small, small egg is left in winter,
escaping through this unmoving memento,
am I a girl dreaming of being a butterfly
or a butterfly dreaming of being a girl?
I don't wait for the flowers to bloom anymore.

A small, small caterpillar bites a rotten apple
without knowing how rotten we are,
faded wings start to appear in my back,
like a snake I wrap this cold dream to heat it,
between the muck and the dry blood...
I'm born.

But, but

when I die,

all me,

it'll be gone.

A small, small pupa wanders in a single leaf to you,
perhaps a single leaf is the world to her,
aren't you sick of pretending to be strong?
That's why we should scream louder in order to lose one wing,
we, we'll be able fly for sure if we want to.

La, la, la, laa, kill...

Kill this butterfly,
kill me!
I'm dead,
I could live for you,
I'd die for me..
That's the way I love,
take my wings and pain off
and kill this tender butterfly.

The present is the only important thing,
'cause it's a "present",
but why do I want to believe in such thing?
You can hear I don't want to grow up,
deep down I know I'm already an adult,
then the wings I'm afraid of spreading,
they'll become damaged.

But, but

when I die,

the sun and its lights

won't reach me again.