It's something like love…
But it never quite makes it.
Running and hiding…
Love loses to hatred.

Drown newborn feelings…
With a river of lies.
Hold them down under…
Till the butterfly dies.

The panther runs free…
On plains made of sorrow.
Telling herself she'll find solace…
She'll find joy, on the morrow.

The child, she hunts…
She searches for prey.
She finds what she seeks…
Takes, and wanders away.

Strangely odd world…
Pair the bug with the hunter.
Draw the child inside…
Then rip all asunder.