l want to fly like the little butterfly

l want to fly on Angel wings

l want to fly and be guided by God's Holy Love

Let me free like on of these

Turn me loose and let me gone

Let me free like on these

l want to fly like butterfly

l want to fly Angel wings.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath be rude. 

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: 
Most freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly: 
Then heigh-ho, the holly! 
This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky, 
That does not bite so nigh 
As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As a friend remembered not. 
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: 
Then heigh-ho, the holly! 
This life is most jolly. 

Nighhe lamp of my soul dyes your feet,

the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.

In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin. 0

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while! 
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice. 

Can you see their anger? 
Can you smell their fear? 
Do you sense unhappiness
in the picture that's so clear? 

We're trying to be perfect, 
to look a certain way.
A family picture says so much
when there's nothing nice to say.

You plaster on the fake smile.
You put your arms 'just so'.
You show the world your family
without letting your family show. 

We do not always win the race, 
By only running right, 
We have to tread the mountain's base 
Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made; 
So often had they trod 
The paths that lead through light and shade, 
They had become as God.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again, 
They passed along the way, 
And left those mighty truths which men 
But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last 
And knows the use of pain, 
Though strewn with errors all his past, 
He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste 
Of wrong, ere choosing right; 
We should not call those years a waste 
Which led us to the light.