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• Women's Studies Victims • | by Of Montreal
They had painted her face like a man's mistake
Gangbanging the sad return to the eagle-shaped mirror
I'm the kind of mannequin that she'd send opens it's eyes
To the ladies of the spread

She took me home and spit in my drink
She spoke of Germaine Greer and Friedan
I don't know what to think
I took her standing in the kitchen
Ass against the sink
She draped me in a stole (what kind?)
I think Malaysian mink

And threw me out into the snow
I waited for a bus
Here comes some ... screaming, "Are you one of us?"
I said, "Of course I am, can't you see I've got some tax reconstruction"
(What does that mean?) No clue
It must be illicit pentagram
(What are you talking about?) No clue

I check my shutter speed, my aperture, my domino
Can't focus, can't stop staring at the face I used to know
This life is not a prison we are always free to go
Anytime

Chinese stars, Chinese stars, Chinese stars
Chinese stars

I'm trying to interface
You met me at such a dismal point on the arc
I think I understand what you were saying
About the smiles, of the skulls
This spastic face was the last one
Our luck was white
I read it with my head open, or only slightly cracked
Somebody else will have to close it when I'm done
And make the most out of the visuals

We're walking though the wood
I notice someone has built a house for no bird in particular
They want to destroy us (I know)
It's time to penetrate their fantasy
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