One for one in pairs
Smoothly dancing
Invoking silently my funerals [bad word] 
Though it’s not my time
I’ve enhanced
Her need to kill me while I fly up to the sun

They’re colored black
Their eyes are sharp  [bad word] out from sweetest trap
I hear her howling yell sounds behind… 

Bitter taste of doom
On her tender eyelids
They make no difference between the love and mourn

Wings are flashing close
But I’ve stucked in mire
And all I have is taste her fingers one by one

Don’t understand 
What I’ve been told
And after she forced me to fold
I felt the seven butterflies lick my blood…

She’s got her seven demon’s souls as butterflies
To take them all
She stretched her name on my weak eyes and I’ve [bad word] One servant more – a butterfly…