Скачать с ютуб Labour - Paris Paloma [Imperfect Instrumental] в хорошем качестве

Labour - Paris Paloma [Imperfect Instrumental]

One, two, three Why are you hanging on? So tight To the road that I'm headed from Off this island This was an escape plan (This was an escape plan) Carefully timed it So that we'd 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 savior You sure make do a whole lotta 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 (You make me do too much labour) Apologies from my tongue And never yours Busy lapping from a flowing cup And stabbing me 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 savior You sure make me do a whole lotta 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 everyday 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 You make me do too much labour All day everyday 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 You make me do too much labour 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 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 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 labour https://lyricstranslate.com/en/paris-...