Butterfly Stone

The sword of truth has a bladed hilt
it cuts to the bone but it beats the guilt.
My hands are bleeding and my aim is poor.
I strike, I slash, I hit the floor.

I'm confused when the laughter falls from my lips like tears,
when I scream out loud and no one hears.
I'm dizzy with the wine of life on my tongue
I sing, I sang I come unstrung.

I should have known -
no butterfly can lift a stone.