Winter again
The butterfly is dead
Freedom asleep with survival
Sharing the light within to bring balance out to play
Meandering from stone to smiling
They all turn away
Children, we are them
So afraid of the silence
The cold, reaching for a light we orbit
Snow Blankets, Buffalo, and rebirth
Winter again
The butterfly is dead, but not forever
And another fire burns, just passing laughs like feathers in the wind
Tomorrow is forever
And today only lasts so long
Only a vagabond, and blood from the paupers pride
The one eyed priest missing the left and right
Holds an open hand to touch the light, to feel the sky
Only emperors fear the fruit of forgotten knowledge
The snake, the original scapegoat
Was waiting behind the birch tree
For a human soul wise enough to listen
Just to remind the children of their perpetual hubris
And nostalgia for longing inaction.