labour

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 fucking 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 ended, would that be a bad thing?
 And the silence haunts our bed chamber
 You make me do too much labour
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 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 and 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