Why are you hanging on?So tightATo the road that I'm headed fromOff this islandThis was an escape plan (This was an escape plan)Carefully timed itASo that we'd go-And dive into the waves belowWho tends the orchards?Who fixes up the gables?Emotional tortureFrom the head of your high tableWho fetches the water?From the rocky mountain springAnd walk back down again?To feel your words and their sharp stingAnd I'm getting fucking tired[Refrão]The capillaries in my eyes are burstingIf our love died, would that be the worst thing?For somebody I thought was my saviourYou sure make me do a whole lot of labourThe callous skin on my hands is crackingIf our love ends, would that be a bad thing?[Próxima Parte]And the silence haunts our bed chamberYou make me do too much labour(You make me do too much labour)Apologies for my tongueAnd never yoursABusy lapping from a flowing cupAnd stabbing with your forkI know you're a smart man (I know you're a smart man)And weaponise the false incompetenceIt's dominance under a guiseIf we had a daughterI'd watch and could not save herThe emotional tortureFrom the head of your high tableShe'd do what you taught herShe'd meet the same cruel fateSo now I've gotta runSo I can undo this mistakeAt least I've gotta try[Refrão] (repetir)[Próxima Parte]And the silence haunts our bed chamberYou make me do too much labourAll day, every dayTherapist, mother, maidNymph then a virginANurse than a servantJust an appendage, live to attend himSo that he never lifts a fingerTwenty-four-seven baby machineSo he can live out his picket fence dreamsIt's not an act of love if you make herYou make me do too much labourAll day, every dayTherapist, mother, maidNymph then a virginANurse than a servantJust an appendage, live to attend himSo that he never lifts a fingerTwenty-four-seven baby machineSo he can live out his picket fence dreamsIt's not an act of love if you make herYou make me do too much labourThe capillaries in my eyes are bursting(All day, every day, therapist mother maid)If our love died, would that be the worst thing?(Nymph then a virgin, nurse then a servant)For somebody I thought was my saviour(Just an appendage, live to attend him)You sure make me do a whole lot of labour(So that he never lifts a finger)The callous skin on my hands is cracking(Twenty-four-seven baby machine)If our love ends, would that be a bad thing?(So he can live out his picket fence dreams)And the silence haunts our bed chamber(It's not an act of love if you make her)You make me do too much labour
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Why are you hanging on?
So tight
A
To the road that I'm headed from
Off this island
This was an escape plan (This was an escape plan)
Carefully timed it
A
So that we'd go
-
And dive into the waves below
Who tends the orchards?
Who fixes up the gables?
Emotional torture
From the head of your high table
Who fetches the water?
From the rocky mountain spring
And walk back down again?
To feel your words and their sharp sting
And I'm getting fucking tired
[Refrão]
The capillaries in my eyes are bursting
If our love died, would that be the worst thing?
For somebody I thought was my saviour
You sure make me do a whole lot of labour
The callous skin on my hands is cracking
If our love ends, would that be a bad thing?
[Próxima Parte]
And the silence haunts our bed chamber
You make me do too much labour
(You make me do too much labour)
Apologies for my tongue
And never yours
A
Busy lapping from a flowing cup
And stabbing with your fork
I know you're a smart man (I know you're a smart man)
And weaponise the false incompetence
It's dominance under a guise
If we had a daughter
I'd watch and could not save her
The emotional torture
From the head of your high table
She'd do what you taught her
She'd meet the same cruel fate
So now I've gotta run
So I can undo this mistake
At least I've gotta try
[Refrão] (repetir)
[Próxima Parte]
And the silence haunts our bed chamber
You make me do too much labour
All day, every day
Therapist, mother, maid
Nymph then a virgin
A
Nurse than a servant
Just an appendage, live to attend him
So that he never lifts a finger
Twenty-four-seven baby machine
So he can live out his picket fence dreams
It's not an act of love if you make her
You make me do too much labour
All day, every day
Therapist, mother, maid
Nymph then a virgin
A
Nurse than a servant
Just an appendage, live to attend him
So that he never lifts a finger
Twenty-four-seven baby machine
So he can live out his picket fence dreams
It's not an act of love if you make her
You make me do too much labour
The capillaries in my eyes are bursting
(All day, every day, therapist mother maid)
If our love died, would that be the worst thing?
(Nymph then a virgin, nurse then a servant)
For somebody I thought was my saviour
(Just an appendage, live to attend him)
You sure make me do a whole lot of labour
(So that he never lifts a finger)
The callous skin on my hands is cracking
(Twenty-four-seven baby machine)
If our love ends, would that be a bad thing?
(So he can live out his picket fence dreams)
And the silence haunts our bed chamber
(It's not an act of love if you make her)
You make me do too much labour
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