If the flapping of one butterfly's wings can cause so much chaos, then the millions of butterflies I still get when I hear your name, will end the world, do you want to end the world?
And to me you'll always be a butterfly, not because of the exalts of your beauty, but because of the chaos the flapping of your wings has caused, are you happy I set you free now?
Are you happy at this calamity now?
You never understood why I kept cutting off your wings every time they regrew.
They're far too dangerous for you.
Far too dangerous for me too.
You're a butterfly, but those wings are chaos,
their winds are chaos, there's no point losing yourself if in the end what wins is chaos
I've seen the effects of the obscenely events of the flapping of them,—
I've seen the others die. That is why I cannot set you free, I cannot let you send 7 billion people to the other side.
