Blue Butterfly

I'm blue
I'm brittle
and dead
I'm hanging in a frame
above the head of your bed
I'm impaled with a fine pin
And near your flower beds I used to live
Your daughter, she would watch me,
and be a kid
Then one day you read of a new hobby
In the lobby, waiting for your appointment
You remembered your boss was a fan
So you thought the relating of fun,
would go hand in hand
Here I am, just for some kind of proof
for some person who fired you,
because you refused to lie
And for all of that, I had to die
I suppose my death has brought a lesson
To never change who you are,
and to always be true in your confessions