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There's a story told of a little Japanese |
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Sitting demurely neath the cherry blossom trees |
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Miss Butterfly's her name |
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A sweet little innocent child was she |
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Till a fine young American from the sea |
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To her garden came |
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They met neath the cherry blossoms everyday |
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And he tought her how to love in the American way |
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To love with her soul was easy to learn |
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Then he sailed away with a promise to return |
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Poor butterfly |
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Neath the blossoms waiting |
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Poor Butterfly |
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For she loved him so |
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The moments pass into hours |
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The hours pass into years |
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And as she smiles through her tears |
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She murmurs low |
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The moon and I know that he'll be faithful |
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I'm sure he'll come to me by and by |
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But if he won't come back |
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Then I'll never cry or sigh |
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I just must die |
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Poor butterfly |