Everyone wants to bow, everyone has an idol
Some paradox of paranoid resilience sets the tone
Disaster struck and it strikes a chord with me
The calm of the apocalyptic daydreamer when the aliens appear

As an anxious rat without a wheel
Would burrow down and cower
Unable alone to spark revolution
Goblet skull full of wet kindling,

As one settles for mad revelation
For the time being, if it keeps the dogs quiet
Be kind and don't let me have any
High chasers smoke anything

And to add to that point, I think he's been subjected enough to your scrutiny, give him the night off. You have your own backyard to tend to, fenceless and on display, a thousand scattered segments, rusted ragged slices with the stab of pain or memory, a still yet glittering field of mechanical parts. Do you remember? You vowed to reassemble them. I've taken no oaths because I will not keep them, I won't tell you what to believe.