Convertible

The sound of tearing might wake the neighbors up
But how else am I supposed to get you off me?
You've been writing all these clichés
And isn't it too cute how apathy makes everyone smile?
Somebody please help this man: he looks nearly dead
Hacksaw in hand and a new convertible head
"I had to feel something or die trying."
This one last inevitably scripted of clichés
Edged with irony has left me with just one stale truth:
"The beast cannot survive without a host."
So without a thought, starve that sycophant
I'll never believe you when you say everything's OK
Just stop hiding behind your apathy
And start tearing your skin
Do whatever it takes
To let light shine on what's within