Convenience is a bitch that lets you bleed
And doesn’t give a damn it’s not your fault
She doesn’t care what comforting you need
Instead, she rubs your wounds with kitchen salt
Of course your blood will splatter on her dress
How thoughtless!  She just had the damn thing cleaned!
Each spot’s a bloody, inconvenient mess
Convenience is a bitch, but you’re a fiend!
I’m meeting friends for tea, and now I’m late!
Don’t make some lame excuse about your death!
I see that you’re conveniently irate!
I see your blood in every angry breath!

Convenience doesn’t care which choice is which
She’ll choose to let you suffer.  What a bitch!