Butterflies tumble out of my mouth

and onto the floor in a coloured blanket.

The fairies danced,

But now they're dead.

And the trees are just bark,

A skeleton's friend.

.

Guide me home

And take me back.

Strike a match

And burn the flames.

There's nothing to see here now.

.

The little beetles pinned to a board,

And the bird's eyes are glass

As he stands on a museum tree.

A feather drifts to the floor,

In a final attempt to fly.

.

Break my bones

And steal my eyes,

Strike a match,

And burn the flames

There's nothing to see here now.

.

The sun has turned

And the earth falls cold,

The river still runs a steel course,

Mercury and Opium form the field,

Dead in the gaze of a thousand eyes.

.

There's nothing to see here now.