Paris Paloma - labour (altyazı ve şarkı sözleri)
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Not: Bazı kelimeler sansürlenmiş olabilir. Bu sadece önizleme içindir.
Altyazıları indirdiğinizde sansürsüz sürümü edinmiş olacaksınız.
Paris Paloma - labour (en) şarkı sözleri
by RentAnAdviser.com
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' fuckin' 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
Apologies from my tongue
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 guise
If we had a daughter
I'd watch and could not save her
The emotional torture
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
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
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 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)
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