Why are you hangin' on so tight to the rope that I'm hangin' from off this island
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 gettin' fuckin' tired
The capillaries in my eyes are burstin'
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 crackin'
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
Never yours
Busy lapping from flowing cup and stabbing with your fork
I know you're a smart man and weaponize the false incompetence
It's dominance under 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 burstin'
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 crackin'
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
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
Nurse then 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 burstin'
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 crackin'
If our love ends would that be a bad thing
And the silence haunts our bed chamber
You make me do too much labour
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