| She says she works «in government»
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| Though her job is ill-defined
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| She’s a registered Republican
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| With a bitter chocolate mind
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| She sometimes lives in Washington
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| She always lives in hope
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| She drives a European car
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| And buys expensive soap
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| She grew up as a rebel
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| Though her tastes were quite diverse
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| Stayed up in her room at night
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| With existential verse
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| But something changed in college
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| And she grew more resolute
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| Still she keeps that air of danger
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| Even in a business suit
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| She’s got the best taste in wine
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| She’s got the best taste in wine
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| And though her icons and her medieval armour
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| Seem a little cold
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| I’d go 'round there anytime
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| That stuff is so hard to find
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| I don’t know what we talk about
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| It drifts off to the chairs and curtain folds
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| Oh Margaux, I’m waiting for you
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| Oh Margaux, what can I do
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| I don’t know what she sees in me
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| I sometimes get confused
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| At times she looks at me as if She’s secretly amused
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| And though I’m no sophisticate
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| I don’t think I’d be shocked
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| I’d like to know what’s in those drawers
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| And rooms that she keeps locked |