It twists and it churns,
And it writhes and it burns.
It constricts and it squeezes,
And it hurts and it seizes.
It pounds in your head,
Makes you sometimes wish you were dead.
Wound up as tight as a spring,
It's the power of this thing.
It brings shouting and screaming,
A kettle over steaming.
It's trouble with a capital T,
And it has engulfed me.
Lives it has wrecked.
It brings with it disease,
And not just a trifle sneeze.
For when it boils,
Beware it's coils.
For let me tell you this,
Anger could kill!
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