One, two, three Why are you hanging on so tight To the rope that I'm hanging from? Off this island, this was an escape plan (this was an escape plan) Carefully timed it, so let me 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 freaking tired 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 calloused skin on my hands is cracking If our love ends, would that be a bad thing? And the silence haunts our bed chamber You make me do too much labour You make me do too much labour Apologies from my tongue, and never yours Busy lapping from 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 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 calloused skin on my hands is cracking If our love ends, would that be a bad thing? 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, nurse, then a servant Just an appendage, live to attend him So that he never lifts a finger 24/7 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 virgin, nurse, then a servant Just an appendage, live to attend him So that he never lifts a finger 24/7 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 (all day, every day) Are bursting (therapist, mother, maid) If our love died (nymph, then virgin) Would that be the worst thing? (Nurse, then a servant) For somebody (just an appendage) I thought was my saviour (live to attend him) You sure make me do (so that) A whole lot of labour (he never lifts a finger) The calloused skin on my hands (24/7) Is cracking (baby machine) If our love ends (so he can live out) Would that be a bad thing? (His picket-fence dreams) And the silence (it's not an act of love) Haunts our bed chamber (if you make her) You make me do too much labour
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