| Wear your anger well inside
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| For all the world to see
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| A heave cloak a one glove tan
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| And no humility
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| You stand inside the garden
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| And feast on black cherries
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| And swallow the mana from heaven
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| And spit out the seeds
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| You spread your anger and sharp edge knife
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| Cut my skin and make it bleed
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| Black pollen in its self-righteousness
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| You are a traitor and a thief
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| Choking on your unplanned words
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| Coughing up your lies
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| Tumbling from your mouth
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| A flurry of broken butterflies
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| Broken butterflies
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| They rest their wings snapped in two
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| On their way to certain death
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| Their colors gold and blue
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| With the blood that flows I can not hide
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| The blood covers me The butterflies they are healed and are set free
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| I wish you had but roof possessed
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| That I don’t expect of you
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| Praise and honor of faithfulness
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| And a rock that you refused
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| If you ever learned to just forgive
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| Will you open your beautiful hearts
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| And lead the way Christ did
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| It is the broken butterflies |