I wish I’d never learned the word hate

I hate the wind for making me cold
I hate the idea of time and growing old
I hate it when the corner of books have a fold
I hate myself for becoming a mould

Yes, I’m a mould - I change people like clay
Which, I guess, I do every day
I don’t tell anyone what to do or say
But somehow I have guided them in every single way

If you told me we had a long day ahead
I’d say I’d rather be back home in bed
If you told me a small bad thing a stranger had said
I would hate every single hair on that man’s head.