| Lyrics: | (Hammill)
If I'm the mirror and you're the image
then what's the secret between the
two,
these 'me's and 'you's, how many can there be?
Oh, I don't mind all that around the
place,
as long as you keep it
well away from me.
I've begun to regret that we ever
met
between the dimensions.
It gets such a strain to pretend that the change
is anything
but cheap...
with your infant pique and your angst pretensions
sometimes you act like a
creep.
And now I'm standing in the corner,
looking at the room and the
furniture
in cheap imitation of alienation and grief.
And now we're going to the
kitchen,
fix ourselves a drink and a cigarette,
getting no closer to being the joker or
thief.
Still, I reflect, this nervous wreck
who stands before me can see as
well,
can surely tell that he's not yet free;
he can turn aside, but can no more ignore
me
than know which one of us is he,
than tell what we are going to be,
than know which
one of is me.
And now we're going to the kitchen,
fix ourselves a drink and a
cigarette,
getting no closer to being the joker or thief.
These mirror
images,
these mirror images
won't stay, go away, are no help.
In these mirror
images of myself
there are no secrets. |
