Labour
Paris Paloma
One, two, three
BmWhy are you hangingEm on so tightG
To the rope that I'm hangingA from?
Off thisBm island, this was an escape planE (this was anEm escape plan)
CarefullyG timed it, so let me goA
And dive into the waves below
BmWho tends the orchDards? Who fixes up theG gables?
EmotionalF# torture from the head of your highBm table
Who fetches the waterD from the rocky mountainG spring?
And walk back downF# again to feel your words
And theirG sharp sting
And I'mG getting fucking tired
BmThe capillaries in myD eyes are bursting
GIf our love died,A would that be the worst thing?
BmFor somebody ID thought was my saviour
YouG sure make me do aA whole lot of labour
BmThe calloused skin on myD hands is cracking
GIf our love ends,A would that be a bad thing?
BmAnd the silenceD haunts our bed chamber
GYou make me doA too much labour
BmEmGAYou make me do too much labour
BmApologies from myEm tongue, and neverG yours
Busy lapping from flowingA cup and stabbing with your forkBm
I know you're a smart manEm (I know you're a smart man)
And weapoGnise
The false incompeAtence, it's dominance under aBm guise
BmIf we had a daughterD, I'd watch and could notG save her
The emotional torF#ture from the head of your highBm table
She'd do what you taught herD
She'd meet the sameG cruel fate
So now I've gottaF# run, so I can undo this misGtake
AtG least I've gotta try
BmThe capillaries in myD eyes are bursting
GIf our love died,A would that be the worst thing?
BmFor somebody ID thought was my saviour
YouG sure make me do aA whole lot of labour
BmThe calloused skin on myD hands is cracking
GIf our love ends,A would that be a bad thing?
BmAnd the silenceD haunts our bed chamber
GYou make me doA too much labour
[:Bm 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
Bm24/7D baby machine
SoG he can live out hisA picket-fence dreams
BmIt's not an act ofD love if you make her
GYou make me doA too much labour
GYou make me doA too much labour
BmThe capillaries in myD eyes are bursting
GIf our love died,A would that be the worst thing?
BmFor somebody ID thought was my saviour
YouG sure make me do aA whole lot of labour
BmThe calloused skin on myD hands is cracking
GIf our love ends,A would that be a bad thing?
BmAnd the silenceD haunts our bed chamber
GYou make me doA too much labour