I can’t tell when it’s going to hit,
I don’t know what causes it.
All I hope is that it isn’t me,
That leads to you feeling prickly.
I mean we have the perfect life,
No debt, happiness, and free from strife.
So please let me know what eats you,
I can’t fix, if I cannot reach you.
It’s my default to think I’ve done something,
A question that sends you in a spin.
But with nothing to go on, to give me an answer,
I tiptoe on the eggshells, like your private dancer.
My male gene tells me that I might have caused that frown,
So I’ve cleaned the house, cooked and a bath awaits to turn frown – upside down.
Candles are on, soft music mixes with the steam,
Soak, I’ll keep the door closed and get wine…you go have a damn good scream!