Frustrated Blood
How many frustrations are in your blood?
What’s your twisted vexing cake?
What are your thoughts throughout the night,
When you lay there wide awake?
And why do you think you can’t mend this rage,
This rage that’s living up in your head?
This rage that keeps you up all night,
Laying prone on your sleepless bed.
You could change the world, reform your ways,
Replace the wrong with right.
You could buck and feud and say the words,
Unsaid in the harsh day light.
But deep down you really know you won’t,
You balked and missed that fix-it sign.
And instead tonight you’ll fill your frustrated blood,
With a glass of fine red wine.
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