The Mirror Lyrics - David Bowie

Wash your face before your faded make-up makes a mark 

The mirror will watch over you 

Pierrot never comes so pack your face and chase the dark 

The mirror's hung up on you 

Don't be last, your friends and your reflection 

It's all so direction now 

Poor Harlequin, you're quite an exception 

Fay troubadour, on a downer 

Gay Harlequin, doesn't believe in you 

Doesn't believe it's true, such a downer. 

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