Don’t Psychoanalyze Me, Please

Trust is a two way street That I’ll never be used to. I’ve been your passenger for years And you’ve done nothing wrong. You’re the perfect driver. But I’ve been in enough accidents That my hand has a death grip on the handle. It’s human nature, But it upsets you. You read my posture Without knowing my past And you assume Assume That I think you’ve done something wrong. That I’m angry Upset Distrusting And you feel it boiling inside you. You haven’t done anything wrong, And we argue. I try to talk you down, Help you focus But you’re so blinded by anger. You won’t listen And we crash. One more reason to hold my death grip on the handle.