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