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Women's Studies Victims

de 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 that cheats and opens its eyes
To the ladies of the spread

She took me home then 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
oh come some values, photos screaming, are you one of us?
I said, "of course man, can't you see i've got some text 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 interphase
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

While walking through 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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