I ripped your butterfly wings so you couldn't fly,
I did it for you, but you still don't know why.
The lonely nights still haunt me.
Stars gleam and shine, but not like they used to,
When your angelic, fragile wings were gently soaring upward.
I've wished on those dull, dim, dead stars,
And still, your broken wings stay shattered in my hand.
I clench them tightly in my fist,
I can't have you flying without me.
You can't fly at all.
I will be sitting under our crescent moon,
With not a friend nor a foe,
I will be waiting for the final sound of peace,
So I can let these butterfly wings go.