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.