Blood seems like such a fickle thing. So hard to truly trust.Â
       It may run ruby through our very veins, but how easy can it be tainted? All it may take is a few drops of the snakes spew and the red we run may kill us.Â
      When we wound it runs so thin, oh it runs so very thin. We bleed and it will not be forgiving. Even if it may no longer be our fault, it will still run us dry. It still shall punish the deeds we didn't do.
      Those who we relate control our lives. They may beat us and our tears will mean nothing. We may cry but those who watch will turn heads. We are told we must love them, for they are blood; no matter the pain they bring.
      No matter how much we may have been hurt.
They could bring us our knees and skew our world, and yet we will be in the wrong to abandon them. We cannot leave our pain if it is brought by those of our blood.
      Blood is a fickle thing, that oh, I do wish wasn't true.
