Curator of Butterflies

歌詞

She likes to walk down the lanes to the fields. In the woods, she finds a stream, the water feels cold in the cup of her hands. Down among the trees she spies butterflies against the leaves. With one brush of her hand they are captured and taken. From the top of the hill, looking over the edge, so far out of reach further and further away. She likes to see all the colours of the wings beneath the glass. Then she turns down the light to keep them from fading away. She likes to walk by the stream down to the shore, from the source to the sea. Looking over the edge where the sky meets the waves, so far out of reach; with just one step, she’d be free, with one bound, with one leap. A part we all play, the end is the start, is the place where we came from. Looking over the edge counting the waves follow the faultlines up the side of the hill the marks of an ancient sea you can see the traces. At the end of the hedgerow out of the field, looking over the edge as far as you can see under the ordinary light. She loved the colours of the wings against the green the first thing she saw the last she hopes to see the parts we play, the start the end, and everything, everything in-between. She likes to walk by the stream down to the shore, from the source to the sea. Looking over the edge where the sky meets the waves, so far out of reach; with just one step, she’d be free.