I rip the wings off of butterflies for pleasure.  
They are stashed in crystal jars underneath my bed.  
They don't deserve to fly, they don't deserve to be free.
What have they done to be rewarded with such a great pleasure?
Nothing.
They haven't been put through the same **** that I have,
         and therefore they don't deserve it.
I figure if I collect enough wings, one day my dream will come true.
I will be able to take all of the butterfly wings and fly away.
I rip the wings off of butterflies, why?
So that I, myself, can fly away and be free...