| Song | The Slant |
| Artist | Ani DiFranco |
| Album | Like I Said |
| 作词 : DiFranco | |
| The slant, a building settling around me | |
| My figure female framed crookedly | |
| In the threshold of the room | |
| Door scraping floorboards with every opening | |
| Carving a rough history of bedroom scenes | |
| The plot hard to follow | |
| The text obscured in the fields of sheets | |
| Slowly gathering the stains of seasons spent lying there | |
| Red and brown like leaves fallen | |
| The colors of an eternal cycle | |
| Fading with the wash cycle | |
| And the rinse cycle | |
| Again an unfamiliar smell | |
| Like my name misspelled or misspoken | |
| A cycle broken | |
| The sound of them strong | |
| Stalking, talking about their prey | |
| Like the way hammer meets nail | |
| Pounding, they say | |
| Pounding out the rhythms of attraction | |
| Like a woman was a drum like a body was a weapon | |
| Like there was something more they wanted than the journey | |
| Like it was owed to them | |
| Steel toed they walk | |
| And I'm wondering why this fear of men | |
| Maybe it's because | |
| I'm hungry | |
| And like a baby | |
| I'm dependent on them | |
| To feed me | |
| I am a work in progress | |
| Dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding | |
| Offering me intricate patterns of questions | |
| Rhythms that never come clean |
| zuò cí : DiFranco | |
| The slant, a building settling around me | |
| My figure female framed crookedly | |
| In the threshold of the room | |
| Door scraping floorboards with every opening | |
| Carving a rough history of bedroom scenes | |
| The plot hard to follow | |
| The text obscured in the fields of sheets | |
| Slowly gathering the stains of seasons spent lying there | |
| Red and brown like leaves fallen | |
| The colors of an eternal cycle | |
| Fading with the wash cycle | |
| And the rinse cycle | |
| Again an unfamiliar smell | |
| Like my name misspelled or misspoken | |
| A cycle broken | |
| The sound of them strong | |
| Stalking, talking about their prey | |
| Like the way hammer meets nail | |
| Pounding, they say | |
| Pounding out the rhythms of attraction | |
| Like a woman was a drum like a body was a weapon | |
| Like there was something more they wanted than the journey | |
| Like it was owed to them | |
| Steel toed they walk | |
| And I' m wondering why this fear of men | |
| Maybe it' s because | |
| I' m hungry | |
| And like a baby | |
| I' m dependent on them | |
| To feed me | |
| I am a work in progress | |
| Dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding | |
| Offering me intricate patterns of questions | |
| Rhythms that never come clean |