با داستان، مضمون و حس این آهنگ بیشتر آشنا شوید.
One, two, three | Why are you hanging on so tight | To the rope that I'm hanging from?
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 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 All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid (The capillaries in my eyes are bursting) Nymph then virgin, nurse and a servant (If our love died, would that be the worst thing?) Just an appendage, live to attend him (For somebody I thought was my saviour) So that he never lifts a finger (You sure make me do a whole lot of labour) 24-7, baby machine (The calloused skin on my hands is crackin') So he can live out his picket fence dreams (If our love ends, would that be a bad thing?) It's not an act of love if you make her (And the silence haunts our bed chamber) You make me do too much labour
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