Butterflies float,
Way in the air,
Nature starts to sing,
What wonderful joy their voice do bring,
Love is the funniest drug of them all,
It doesn’t come by much,
But when it does,
You forget your past and future,
You concentrate on the wonders of now,
You give your heart away,
With just the hope,
That it wont be destroyed or shattered,
Even though you know you shouldn’t have.

The look in their eyes is all that matters,
Your body looses the ability to think
Without them popping into your mind,
With a cheesy phrase and action,
Or a memory of some kind.


Butterflies corrode your stomach
From the very sight of them far away,
And you can’t help but to rehearse everything your about to say,
It’s them, why you stay up late,
Through the day and night,
Is there such thing
As a perfect moment
When all…

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