Wrapped around the point there’s a garden of flower and scent
There flutters a damaged butterfly her wings twisted and bent
She rides the breeze close to the edge I hope she won’t fall in
She fights her way with broken wing I pray she won’t fall in
Perhaps she’ll fly
Standing on the headland there’s a man with beard and frown
He stares to the horizon and those boats a-fishing bound
His shoes are highly polished but the soles are wearing thin
His poems are for a loved one but he’s going to throw them in
Perhaps he’ll die, die perhaps he’ll die
Perhaps he’ll die, die to a broken man’s song
Perhaps he’ll die
This wasn’t in his script nor in his plans
He watched a butterfly slip through a trusting hand
A trusting hand
Stands a friend of broken man with hand on heart on chest
Sees the damaged butterfly and prays for her to rest
And rise above the ocean waves and fly with mended wing
Land in garden of happiness and never fall in
Perhaps she’ll fly, fly perhaps she’ll fly
Perhaps she’ll fly, fly to a broken man’s song
Fly into the setting sun
Fly to a broken man’s song
Fly into the setting sun
Perhaps she’ll fly

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