worn out

All day, every day Therapist, mother, maid Nymph then a virgin, nurse than 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 labor 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 that I thought was my savior You sure make me do a whole lot of labor The callous 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 labor 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 weaponize 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 that I thought was my savior You sure make me do a whole lot of labor The callous 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 labor All day, every day Therapist, mother, maid Nymph then a virgin, nurse than 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 labor All day, every day Therapist, mother, maid Nymph then a virgin, nurse than 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 labor 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 than a servant) For somebody that I thought was my savior (Just an appendage, live to attend him) You sure make me do a whole lot of labor (so that he never lifts a finger) The callous skin on my hands is cracking (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 labor (you make me do too much labor)