• The loss of innocence is present in the sounds you hear. It is the sound of your own innocence echoing in that moment it died. Underneath your skin there is something there, tears you've never shed before are threatening to glide down your face. You breathe in and move on.

    This is where the pursuit begins. When you realize who you should be isn't who you are. When is starts, you only get a ten second head start, hit the ground running with all you might. Whether or not you run, there is a revolution starting. And it'll start on our count, or it won't start at all.

    You didn't stand a chance by yourself this time around. You are trying to escape your past self. And the sound is in your heart, throbbing in your lungs. This feeling familiar in your soul, deep down, too low to identify. And this sound you hear is a collection of souls poured into one. We are the Butterfly Massacre.

    It feels real this time around. What you are trying to say is what she screams. You can't let anyone see the true you right now, so you use them to do so. Because the true you isn't ready to take on the world like you did last time honey, but they are. You are not alone this time. There are others. All walking the same path, battered in different ways, all in all, the blood is shed the same. You will walk the path with five who have the same scars as you, if not a thousand who have the same bruises.

    With every line she sings, the thunderous sound of drumming keeps track of her pace. While another is screaming the pain of the world into her microphone, the strumming of strings accompany these voices, until all the sounds are a harmony of one persons pain. When we are one, we will end it on our count, or it will never end at all.

    We are the pain.
    We are the beaten
    And only by suffering do you find a true treasure buried deep inside of you.



    There is a revolution starting. And it'll start on your count, or it won't start at all. We are, the Massacre.