| It’s a good year for a murder
 | 
| She’s praying to Jesus, she’s pulling the trigger
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| There’s no tears, cause he’s not here
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| She washes her hands, and she fixes the dinner
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| But soon they’ll be coming to rush her away
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| No one’s so sure if her crime had a reason
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| Reasons like seasons, they constantly change
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| And the seasons of last year like reasons have floated away
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| Away with this spilt milk
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| Away with this dirty dish water, away
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| Seventeen years, and all that he gave was a daughter
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| «It's me and the moon,» she says
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| And I got no trouble with that
 | 
| But i am a butterfly, you wouldn’t let me die
 | 
| «It's me and the moon,» she says
 | 
| And it’s over, but it just started
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| The blood stained the carpet, her heart like a crystal
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| She’s lucid and departed
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| A life left behind, she can find in her mind gone away
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| Away with these nightmares
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| Away with suburbia
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| Shake down away, you marry a role
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| And you give up your soul 'til you break down
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| But what do you say we go for a ride?
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| What do you say we get high?
 | 
| But i’m so tired of days that feel like the night
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| «It's me and the moon,» she says
 | 
| And I got no trouble with that
 | 
| But I am a butterfly, you wouldn’t let me die
 | 
| I am a butterfly, I am a butterfly, I am a butterfly |