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Cannonballs and butterflies sound the same when they're just sitting there
Till the fuse burns, or the powder goes pop, or the wings flap into hurricanes
It's so strange how the delicate can find a better way to sink my ship

Without Cannonballs, and butterfly wings
The heavy things can't pack the sting
Like the gentle force of the winds and rain

The first thing that she ever did was to tear down her surroundings
And spread her wings, like an angel of disaster
And she laughs at these guns I bear, like I'm standing here in my underwear

All she knows, is this must be some kind of power she holds
From the first time she flies, till the day her wings wear out and die
That's the power of a gentle touch

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