Butterflies are white and blue
     In this field we wander through.
     Suffer me to take your hand.
     Death comes in a day or two.

     All the things we ever knew
     Will be ashes in that hour,
     Mark the transient butterfly,
     How he hangs upon the flower.

     Suffer me to take your hand.
     Suffer me to cherish you
     Till the dawn is in the sky.
     Whether I be false or true,
     Death comes in a day or two.


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