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When a man of my age shaves his face in the morning, |
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Who is it that stares back and greets him? |
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The ghost of his father long dead all these years? |
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Or the boy that he was, still wet in the ears? |
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Or the terrible sum of all of his fears, |
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In the eyes of this stranger who meets him? |
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So his glance rarely strays from his chin or his jawline, |
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To face up to the truth of his soul, |
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It's the eyes he avoids so afraid to acknowledge, |
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Something strange, unexpected, out of control. |
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There are times when a man needs to brave his reflection, |
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And face what he sees without fear, |
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It takes a man to accept his mortality, |
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Or be surprised by the presence of a tear. |
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It was only an arrangement, a practical arrangement, |
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I forgot the first commandment of the realist's handbook, |
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Don't be fooled by illusions you created yourself, |
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And fall in love with someone, when she loves someone else. |
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Like a covering of snow on a winter's night, |
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It glistens and it sparkles in the moonlight, |
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But it's gone by the morning, how quickly it melts, |
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You still love her but she loves someone else. |
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And where does that leave you? |
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You self-styled man of vision. |
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You feel stupid, you feel angry, are you losing your mind? |
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To destroy the one she loves, does that become your mission? |
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Like a pantomime villain with an axe to grind? |
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To regain your self-respect, hold your head up like a man, |
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Use the ice around your heart before it melts, |
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But you're not fooling anybody, you're only fooling yourself. |
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Like a covering of snow on a winter's night, |
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It glistens and it sparkles in the moonlight, |
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But it's gone by the morning, how quickly it melts, |
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You still love her but she loves someone else. |