A child holds a butterfly close It opens its wings to fly The butterfly flies threw a field Where roses grow The blood of the innocent drips from it's wings Staining the roses red Over the hill in the vallies below A battle rages The child watches and cries for her father The soliders leave And the girl climbs down the hill THe butterfly follows and flowers grow Each one redder then the one before The war is over And the girl grows up But each year On the anniversary of his death She visits the valley where her father lays.
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