I would take away the past from him
Rip it up to shreds
Then mask all of his indifference
Burn all those angry beds.
Peel the hands of time from a clock
Then return the favor upon his maid
Get the symptom of the crime
But only by getting him laid.
Find most of it in vain now
It doesn’t matter any more
You can think you are the ceiling
When really, you’re the door.
Let his indifference be the knife you need
The anger is your chord
Wrap that thing around his neck
Then tell him to pray to his lord.