[00:00.000] 作曲 : Paris Paloma
[00:00.050](One, two, three)
[00:02.220]Why are you hangin' on
[00:06.730]So tight
[00:09.880]To the rope that I'm hangin' from
[00:12.370]Off this island?
[00:15.860]This was an escape plan (This was an escape plan)
[00:18.690]Carefully timed it
[00:21.180]So let me go
[00:22.540]And dive into the waves below
[00:26.070]Who tends the orchards?
[00:29.470]Who fixes up the gables?
[00:32.710]Emotional torture
[00:35.380]From the head of your high table
[00:38.140]Who fetches the water
[00:40.770]From the rocky mountain spring?
[00:43.750]And walk back down again
[00:46.600]To feel your words and their sharp sting?
[00:49.870]And I'm gettin' ****in' tired
[00:53.990]The capillaries in my eyes are bursting
[00:57.640]If our love died, would that be the worst thing?
[01:00.190]For somebody I thought was my saviour
[01:03.100]You sure make me do a whole lot of labour
[01:05.910]The calloused skin on my hands is crackin'
[01:08.740]If our love ends, would that be a bad thing?
[01:11.560]And the silence haunts our bed chamber
[01:14.470]You make me do too much labour
[01:25.060](You make me do too much labour)
[01:28.740]Apologies from my tongue
[01:32.170]Never yours
[01:35.350]Busy lapping from a flowing cup
[01:38.110]And stabbing with your fork
[01:40.850]I know you're a smart man (I know you're a smart man)
[01:44.380]And weaponise
[01:46.620]The false incompetence
[01:49.380]It's dominance under guise
[01:52.220]If we had a daughter
[01:54.820]I'd watch and could not save her
[01:58.280]The emotional torture
[02:00.770]From the head of your high table
[02:03.750]She'd do what you taught her
[02:06.320]She'd meet the same cruel fate
[02:09.590]So now I've gotta run
[02:12.130]So I can undo this mistake
[02:15.510]At least I've gotta try
[02:19.960]The capillaries in my eyes are bursting
[02:23.180]If our love died, would that be the worst thing?
[02:25.920]For somebody I thought was my saviour
[02:28.690]You sure make me do a whole lot of labour
[02:31.600]The calloused skin on my hands is crackin'
[02:34.540]If our love ends, would that be a bad thing?
[02:37.340]And the silence haunts our bed chamber
[02:40.150]You make me do too much labour
[02:43.080]All day, every day: Therapist, mother, maid
[02:45.870]Nymph, then a virgin nurse, and a servant
[02:48.570]Just an appendage, live to attend him
[02:51.420]So that he never lifts a finger
[02:54.310]Twenty-four-seven baby machine
[02:56.820]So he can live out his picket fence dreams
[02:59.920]It's not an act of love if you make her
[03:02.930]You make me do too much labour
[03:05.830]All day, every day: Therapist, mother, maid
[03:08.630]Nymph, then a virgin, nurse, and a servant
[03:11.430]Just an appendage, live to attend him
[03:14.270]So that he never lifts a finger
[03:17.180]Twenty-four-seven baby machine
[03:19.720]So he can live out his picket fence dreams
[03:22.850]It's not an act of love if you make her
[03:25.690]You make me do too much labour
[03:28.710]The capillaries in my eyes are bursting (All day, every day: Therapist, mother, maid)
[03:32.150]If our love died, would that be the worst thing? (Nymph, then a virgin, nurse, and a servant)
[03:34.500]For somebody I thought was my saviour (Just an appendage, live to attend him)
[03:37.370]You sure make me do a whole lot of labour (So that he never lifts a finger)
[03:40.080]The callous skin on my hands is crackin' (Twenty-four-seven baby machine)
[03:42.910]If our love ends, would that be a bad thing? (So he can live out his picket fence dreams)
[03:45.440]And the silence haunts our bed chamber (It's not an act of love if you make her)
[03:48.560]You make me do too much labour

作曲 : Paris Paloma
(One, two, three)
Why are you hangin' on
So tight
To the rope that I'm hangin' 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 gettin' ****in' 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 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 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 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 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, and 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, and 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, and 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 crackin' (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