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Butterfly

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  • Butterfly



    This one goes out to the whole cast and crew of this freaky mess,
    Roadies and rowdies, friends and relatives,
    Lawyers, therapists, life coaches, mentors,
    Toadies, groupies, admirers and hangers-on,
    Well-wishers and agitators, saboteurs and confidential informants,
    To those trying to bring the whole thing down from the inside.


    And to the ones working hard to keep it going,
    The experts and the snobs, the big in both shot and wig,
    The sayers both sooth and nay,
    The plussed and the nonplussed alike,
    The sober and the occasionally sober,
    The losers and dummies who will never quite get it together


    To those disheartened by suffering who still carry on,
    To the ones who didn’t make the mess but help clean up,
    To the patient and the kind, the hopeful and the trustworthy,
    To the proud and the angry, the difficult and the absurd,
    To internal tremors, palpitating veins, and twitchy nerves,
    And to those trying to describe the indescribable nature of the universe.


    To the sluggards and the gluttons, the beautiful and the sublime,
    To the ones who smell the flowers and the ones who don’t have time,
    To my muse Robert Ritchie and that clown Zhuangzi,
    To the ones who didn’t have to that gave a shit about me,
    To every chill traveler that I’ve met along the way,
    And even to the assholes talking loudly while the band is trying to play.


    Am I the butterfly or is the butterfly me?
    We try to sort it out, but we never can agree.
    One of us is dreaming, the other is a dream;
    I guess in the end we’re both on the same team.


    This is what I remember: A restless young man
    Who liked to stay up all night long.
    He was the kind who never stuck to to the plan,
    Unless the plan was to seek out a song.
    There were too many voices for him to hear every one;
    He heard as many as he could and had a little bit of fun.


    Sometimes taken by the beauty of every single thing,
    He’d freeze up and seem to go away.
    Then he’d close his eyes and do his best to sing;
    Other times he’d cry and not know what to say.
    One time he thought he heard an answer from a voice sounding so sweet
    Belonging to another friend he’ll probably never meet.


    Am I the butterfly or is the butterfly me?
    We try to sort it out, but we never can agree.
    One of us is dreaming, the other is a dream;
    I guess in the end we’re both on the same team.


    One time something shook him and threw him to the ground;
    He woke up not knowing what to do.
    He tried to sneak away, didn’t want to be found,
    He knew he had to hide but he didn’t know from who.
    It was hard to get away because he couldn’t fly, run or even walk,
    And all his words were gone again - he couldn’t even talk.


    Confused and careless, always kind of a mess,
    He was never too far from his next fall,
    But to be honest he couldn’t care less,
    Except once he forgot to not care and for a moment felt it all.
    All the ills that we all bear, but it wasn’t all that bad.
    He still felt kind of happy even though he was really sad.


    Am I the butterfly or is the butterfly me?
    We try to sort it out, but we never can agree.
    One of us is dreaming, the other is a dream;
    I guess in the end we’re both on the same team.


    I know that you can hear me and you want to pull off my wings.
    Do the worst that you can do; it won't ever be enough.
    My kind might go by different names and honor different kings,
    But just because we're gentle, don't think we can't play rough.
    We are all still out here, and we'll always be around
    To pick each other up when you push us to the ground.


    Not a threat, just a promise that this is how we choose to live,
    A whole army of butterflies with only love to give.
    Our wings will nudge the air and who knows what dreams may come,
    We know we don't have much time, but we know that we have some.
    One day when you are strong enough to admit you’re sometimes wrong,
    You, too, will earn your wings and find your way into the song.


    Am I the butterfly or is the butterfly me?
    We try to sort it out, but we never can agree.
    One of us is dreaming, the other is a dream;
    I guess in the end we’re both on the same team.
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