We all argue someday with someone
It's written in our human blood
In these fights, we're submerged by a wish of destrustion
You know, hate is like a flower's bud
It can grow immensely leaving you stunned

When it happens, those little quarrels takes forms
Like a butterfly maturing in its cocoon
Words can hit like bombs
Rage can turn into wounds

It can as much be a silent war as a demonstrative one
But the damage can be similar
And beloved by no one
Nobody crave for these types of scars

Some get on one knee
Begging
Wanting more of this
Sobbing

Some scratch
Yell
Fight
Throw affrays

But neither case
From little fights
War and despair grows