Some prefer to simmer in a slow and steady brew.
They poke and prod their dinner while they let the anger stew.
Nothing is colder than that icy, frozen shoulder,
And the death-stare in her eyes will make a grown man cry.
You better get right ’cause the sun is setting, it’s goin’ down!
Better unite ’cause I think I hear the crickets comin’ out!
You better pursue some peace real soon ’cause the night’s not waitin’ for you!
Better get right ’cause the sun is setting, it’s goin’ down!
Some deny their anger, those sneaky passive–aggressive kind,
Seething and suffocating, and yet they tell you, “I’m fine”.
The clues that they leave you and the way they try to tease you,
Even little children know that something’s about to blow!
Some embrace the drama; they fight with pure artistic flair.
No sense to hide the fury, they freely spew it everywhere.
Each provocation, an excuse for exaggeration.
Every party fights to win, to squeeze the last word in!