(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
by Sanderlei Silveira - 26/03/2023
(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
[Pre-Chorus]
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
[Chorus]
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
[Post-Chorus]
(You make me do too much labour)
[Verse 2]
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
[Pre-Chorus]
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
[Chorus]
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
[Bridge]
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
[Chorus]
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
(Un, dous, tres) Por que estás colgado! Tan axustado
Á corda da que estou colgado. Fóra desta illa?
Este era un plan de fuga (este era un plan de fuga)
Cronometrou con coidado. Entón déixame ir! E mergúllate nas ondas de abaixo
[Pre-coro]
Quen tende os hortos?
Quen soluciona as portas?
Tortura emocional
Desde a cabeza da túa mesa alta
Que busca a auga
Da primavera de Rocky Mountain?
E camiña de novo de novo
Para sentir as túas palabras e a súa forte picadura?
E estou canso
[Coro]
Os capilares dos meus ollos están estoupados
Se o noso amor morreu, sería iso o peor?
Por alguén que pensei que era o meu Salvador
Seguro que me fas facer moito traballo
A pel callada nas miñas mans é crackin '
Se o noso amor remate, sería algo malo?
E o silencio asombra a nosa cámara
Fasme facer demasiado traballo
[Post-coro]
(Fasme facer demasiado traballo)
[Verse 2]
Desculpas da miña lingua
Nunca o teu
Ocupado colgando dunha cunca que flúe
E apuñalando coa túa bifurcación
Sei que es un home intelixente (sei que es un home intelixente)
E arma
A falsa incompetencia
É dominio baixo o disfraz
[Pre-coro]
Se tivésemos unha filla
Mirei e non podía salvala
A tortura emocional
Desde a cabeza da túa mesa alta
Ela faría o que lle ensinaches
Coñecería a mesma cruel destino
Entón agora teño que correr
Así podo desfacer este erro
Polo menos teño que probar
[Coro]
Os capilares dos meus ollos están estoupados
Se o noso amor morreu, sería iso o peor?
Por alguén que pensei que era o meu Salvador
Seguro que me fas facer moito traballo
A pel callada nas miñas mans é crackin '
Se o noso amor remate, sería algo malo?
E o silencio asombra a nosa cámara
Fasme facer demasiado traballo
[Ponte]
Todo o día, todos os días: terapeuta, nai, empregada
Ninfa, entón unha enfermeira virxe, e un criado
Só un apéndice, vive para asistilo
Para que nunca levanta un dedo
Vinte e catro e sete máquinas para bebés
Para que poida vivir os seus soños de valla de piquetes
Non é un acto de amor se a fas
Fasme facer demasiado traballo
Todo o día, todos os días: terapeuta, nai, empregada
Ninfa, entón unha virxe, enfermeira e un criado
Só un apéndice, vive para asistilo
Para que nunca levanta un dedo
Vinte e catro e sete máquinas para bebés
Para que poida vivir os seus soños de valla de piquetes
Non é un acto de amor se a fas
Fasme facer demasiado traballo
[Coro]
Os capilares dos meus ollos están estoupados (todo o día, todos os días: terapeuta, nai, doncela)
Se o noso amor morreu, sería iso o peor? (Ninfa, logo unha virxe, enfermeira e un criado)
Para alguén que pensei que era o meu Salvador (só un apéndice, en directo para asistilo)
Seguro que me fas facer moito traballo (para que nunca levante un dedo)
A pel callosa nas miñas mans é crackin '(vintecatro e sete máquinas para bebés)
Se o noso amor remate, sería algo malo? (Para que poida vivir os seus soños de valla de piquetes)
E o silencio asombra a nosa cámara (non é un acto de amor se a fas)
Fasme facer demasiado traballo