LABOUR

[Verse 1] Why are you hanging on So tight to that 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 [Pre-Chorus] Who tends the orchard? Who fixes up the gables? Emotional torture From the head of your high table Who fetches the water From the rocky mountain spring? And I walk back down again To feel your words and their sharp sting And I'm getting fucking tired [Chorus] The capillaries in my eyes are bursting If our love died, would that be the worst thing? For somebody I thought was my savior You sure makе me do a whole lot of labour The callousеd skin on my hands is cracking If our love ends, would that be a bad thing? And the silence haunts our bedchamber You make me do too much labour [Post-Chorus] (You make me do too much labour) [Verse 2] Apologies for my tongue And never yours Busy lapping from flowing ups And stabbing with your fork I know you're a smart man (I know you're a smart man) And weaponize the false incompetence It's dominance under a guise [Pre-Chorus] If I 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 [Chorus] The capillaries in my eyes are bursting If our love died, would that be the worst thing? For somebody I thought was my savior 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 bedchamber You make me do too much labour [Post-Chorus] (You make me do too much labour) [Bridge] 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 [Chorus] 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 savior (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 calloused 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 bedchamber (It's not an act of love if you make her) You make me do too much labour (You make me do too much labour)