sirens (demo 3) - melanie martinez lyrics
[chorus]
drink from the leche of sirens
summon the sailors in town
strangle the fear of deciding
which ones deserving to drown
[post*chorus]
(drown, drown)
(drown, drown)
[verse 1]
engraved in our memory, the harm that was done
our mothers, the witches they banished and burned
all of our sisters were k!lled and abused
by sword*swinging men who would always accuse
[pre*chorus]
the worst of a woman who fights for our right
to be where we belong at the front of the line
tired of silence and being polite
your legs turn to shimmering scales in the night
[chorus]
drink from the leche of sirens
summon the sailors in town
strangle the fear of deciding
which ones deserving to drown
don’t feel bad when these f*ckers all drown
[post*chorus]
(drown, drown)
(let them drown, let)
[verse 2]
tenderness worn on the skin like a dress
nurture these men, pull them out of their mess
they steal the resources, destroy all the land
belittle the power of the feminine hand
[pre*chorus]
the milk from the rivers of every moon
cradle you tight like you’re back in the womb
bury their souls in a cove by the light
celestial dip all that ego and pride
[chorus]
drink from the leche of sirens
summon the sailors in town
strangle the fear of deciding
which ones deserving to drown
don’t feel bad when these f*ckers all drown
[post*chorus]
(drown, ooh)
(drown, ooh)
(drown, ooh)
(drown)
[bridge]
nothing wrong with a little havoc
it’s fun when sh*t hits the fan
so guillotine their heads by shouting
cut ’em off, the water’s red
nothing wrong with a little havoc
it’s fun when sh*t hits the fan
so guillotine their heads by shouting
cut ’em off, the water’s red
nothing wrong with a little havoc
it’s fun when sh*t hits the fan
so guillotine their heads by shouting
cut ’em off, the water’s red
nothing wrong with a little havoc
it’s fun when sh*t hits the fan
so guillotine their heads by shouting
cut ’em off, the water’s red
nothing wrong with a little havoc
it’s fun when sh*t hits the fan
so guillotine their heads by shouting
cut ’em off, the water’s red
[chorus]
drink from the leche of sirens
summon the sailors in town
strangle the fear of deciding
which ones deserving to drown
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