Текст песни Климова Лина - а внутри умирают бабочки

I carefully listen to fairy tales
And in the crowd smile to the west.
And inside the butterflies die.
And terribly want to cry.
On the chest always hands are folded,
So that no one ever seen
how their wings are treated under the skin,
Leaving his abode.
Have you ever seen
Insects in confidence zone?
There is no butterflies. Note. Have mercy.
Split them on the veins, arteries.