His father was a lawyer
Mother a psychologist
He was just a boy who liked to torture bugs
When they'd go out to work
He'd go out to play
With pockets full of weapons
Bugs you'd better stay out of my way

He'd say
There's no love, no understanding
I just torture the bugs
It's survival of the fittest
And torture for the winner

He liked to get in garbage cans
And capture little bugs
And burn them with a magnifying glass
After he pulled off their wings
His father did not think it right
To pick apart helpless things
And his mother did not understand
How he could be so unfeeling

He'd say
There's no love, no understanding
I just torture the bugs
It's survival of the fittest
And torture for the winner

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Writer(s): Rachel Webber, Scott Ryser