Is that what you call tact? You're as subtle as a brick in the small of my back.
It's ironic how that line of this song applies to someone I know. Then again, isn't the song title also linked into this fucking mess? "Seventy times seven" is a bible teaching - that you should forgive someone, not seven times, not seventy, but seventy times seven.
I don't think I want to forgive you seven times. I already have.
I don't think I want to forgive you seventy times. I already have.
I don't think I'll have enough patience to forgive you over and over.
Maybe if you apologise and admit you are wrong for once, I will.
Why do you think being an adult always makes you right, and me wrong? I honestly can't remember the last time you owned up to being in the wrong.
Blaming me again. God you fucking tire me out.
I'm not having another session of twisted and tortured anger at my mother. I'm just going to try and make her see how much she's making me unhappy with her taking her anger and frustration out on me. Perhaps it's time I stopped trying to shout louder than her, stop calling her more and more abusive names, and stopped letting my temper show.
I refuse to speak to her until she admits what she's doing is wrong.
And there's her wondering all the time why I speak more highly of my father than I do about her damned self. It's because he has the ability to admit when he's wrong about something, and sadly, she lacks that virtue.
I don't think I want to forgive you seven times. I already have.
I don't think I want to forgive you seventy times. I already have.
I don't think I'll have enough patience to forgive you over and over.
Maybe if you apologise and admit you are wrong for once, I will.
Why do you think being an adult always makes you right, and me wrong? I honestly can't remember the last time you owned up to being in the wrong.
Blaming me again. God you fucking tire me out.
I'm not having another session of twisted and tortured anger at my mother. I'm just going to try and make her see how much she's making me unhappy with her taking her anger and frustration out on me. Perhaps it's time I stopped trying to shout louder than her, stop calling her more and more abusive names, and stopped letting my temper show.
I refuse to speak to her until she admits what she's doing is wrong.
And there's her wondering all the time why I speak more highly of my father than I do about her damned self. It's because he has the ability to admit when he's wrong about something, and sadly, she lacks that virtue.