When the world turned purple and orange,
Look up to the cracking sky.
Rabid houses devour us like something out of,
A twisted lullaby.

The bloody knife shines in the midnight,
And the street lights whisper pain.
Down near the poisoned river where the young boys play,
The crawling bugs are making me insane.

There once was a young girl,
With a red, flowing ocean of hair.
And when the daisies talked and broke themselves,
She would just stand and stare.

With the blood on her hands,
The whole city dies.
She fills with love,
And breaks down and cries.

She stands there with her diary,
Around her are the city's tears of flame.
The moment she breathed her last breath,
It would never be the same.

The scalpel blade smiles,
And begins with a laugh the dissection.
The silver cross weeps,
And sobs the resurrection.

The boy with the broken flower runs,
Through a field of knives set ablaze.
And he screamed he'd love her,
Even after his life past through the maze.

The butterfly with the torn wings,
Flies wild and free.
The boy with the broken flower ran alongside,
And pleaded if he could fly with thee.

Theres blood on the walls,
And the floor is getting cold.
Theres love in the room,
But sorry the static is getting old.

Theres a knife in the boys heart,
But that's part of the show.
He has no pulse left,
But his face is still aglow.

Now comes the final chapter,
And the boy with the broken flower sings.
Then the girl with an ocean of red hair joins him,
And they fly away on the butterfly's broken wings.