Little pretty butterflies
Want to reach the sun
They already have blind eyes,
Half of life is gone.
Burning wings make them cry,
But they can't give up -
On the ground, they will die,
So they must hold up.
Never looking back again,
Little wings will fly
To forget about the pain,
Just to touch the sky.
But the little butterflies
Never reach the aim -
Yes, it's hard to realize
That the sun means flame.