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| Butterfly I will call her a butterfly Trapped in my cell As soon as I turned off She ran from my hell I called her enough But she flew through the sky She had to much stuff I was ready to die We once ran the street Then she had to meet My uncle sam who offered her A nice little treat She loved to watch I was just another notch A butterfly who picked A flower for lunch Now I write to you They call me the wind How many knew This is the letter I sent When you feel the breeze You will remember me And we will never know To be or not to be Hard copy coming soon |