I'd just got back. I'd hit the sack. That's when the call came through;
"I'd get back out there tootie-sweetie. Now, if I was you!
It's something big that's happening. Here, take down this address…"
He gave me the coordinates to suit my GPS.
"Remember how you told me once you want to live the dream?
Tonight kid, you might hear
The bu*terfly scream!"
"I think you'd better move along – there's nothing here to see!"
A guy in fancy j**ellery was looking straight at me.
"Come on, my friend, that can't be true!" I heard myself repeat,
"There's something going on down there in Gerrymander Street."
Let's say he'd skipped his cla**es in the groves of academe!
Then, faint on the wind,
Came a bu*terfly's scream…
He kicked the dog that kept on getting underneath his feet.
A car came by; the chauffeur-driven kind of the elite.
The driver rolled his window down. "The weather's closing in!
We're back to all the good times and the old days in Berlin
When nothing could be taken to appear as it would seem!"
Again came the sound
Of a bu*terfly's scream.
He caught my eye. He smiled and said, "I'll tell you what I think.
It's best for you if we a**ume your hearing's on the blink.
In around about an hour from now the roadway will be clear
And no one will believe that anyone was ever here."
I asked myself, "Were they against, or part of this regime?
And who else is listening,
When bu*terflies scream?"
Someone told me later on of the blacked-out motorcade
That swept out through and past the Gerrymander Street blockade.
No one got a photograph, but it came as no surprise.
And anyway, we know that pictures tell a thousand lies.
It all comes down to balancing on both sides of the beam
And trying to listen
When bu*terflies scream…
And trying to listen
When bu*terflies scream.