And with each victory, heart uplifted by unknown wing
He'd raise his head proudly, and loudly he'd sing:
“You know, it's really not that hard to be free...
just float like a butterfly and sting like a bee!”
But now, the final bell has rung.
No need to hold your breath.
Dreams, you know, they die slowly
and heroes always seem a bit holy
until they meet their match.
What's left in the darkness of a lonely arena,
stands simply the shadow of a solitary ballerina;
a moment of glory from a passing generation,
left without heroes, or dreamers, or veneration.
To them she lifts a torch,
lifts it high and lifts it bright,
in memory of a man who knew how to fight.
Gracefully she bows, as she gently sighs,
quickly wiping the tear from her eye,
and proudly she loudly cries:
“You know, it's really not that hard to be free...
just float like a butterfly and sting like a bee!”
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