The Mirror

All the great fallen men have mirrors, and I have one, too
Theirs hang on their den wall, lying in my living room
Now, it seems some years ago, they'd stand and make faces in their den
The mirrors, they’d fix their ties, and comb their hair, and grin
Some would kiss the mirror with dollar signs flashing in their head
But now they're auctioning possessions away, can't sell their autograph to Mrs. Way
Can’t even figure out what time of day to pull out their hair, or to tell the press to stay away
And their names are in nеwspapers, and yes, it's all on the front pagе
The word bankrupt, they'd work as much as men would wage
All the great fallen men have mirrors, and I have one, too
The difference you see between me and them, and their faces of shame and hair soaked with gin, is that mirror pain just brings them pain when they try to look in
My mirror still hangs in the same old place
It gets used quite a bit when I want to make a face
I comb my hair, and I stare and laugh