Music Monday: LABOUR (the cacophony)

I know, I've posted this before, but for the one year anniversary of this song being released, the artist took note of everyone that did a cover/lip-sync/other video on TikTok all rolled into one big video to speak to the shared understanding of feminine rage that has heightened since the song's release. I wasn't going to say anything about this new version at first. I was just going to let the video play and let you see the effects of patriarchy, misogyny, and centuries of oppression play out on your screen. But y'all...look at the amazing diversity of faces, self expression, and lives represented in this video. How much more does this hit home with this may voices behind the original? I wish they'd included deaf talent from TikTok on here performing the song in ASL, but when you think about how global this video has become that would have been just more oppression, IMO, to pick one signed language over another. Perhaps a video will be forthcoming in the future with that many Deaf performers from all over the world?

Anyway...I can't listen without getting goosebumps as well as very angry at the truth presented here. Lyrics included at the bottom.

labour (the cacophony)

by Paris Paloma

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

[Verse 1]

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' fucking 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

[Verse 2]

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 a 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, 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 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

[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, 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 calloused skin on my hands is crackin' (24/7 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