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I was sick with that old Margaret, for four years, near about |
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young, dumb and dumbstruck when Margie, she blew my candle out |
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I've got to have me a partner if I'm to sell it all |
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save the mirror I look best in, in the back of that dirty hall |
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Stare through the beers and year and the bags and bruises fade |
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those grim lines turn sharp and fine, like laws the pilgrim laid |
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beaming through all the brag and cuss, promising the fall |
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at the mirror I look best in, in the back of that dirty hall |
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Soak up their mislaid luck and the floor is a pond of piss |
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the brown glass throws a face back, wondering how it came to this |
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something about being there at last makes a man stand tall |
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that's the mirror I look best in, in the back of that dirty hall |
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I can't take up another drink and fight them now no more |
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they're all moving, you're one of them, through that Old Holland door |
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I'm wishing for a pardon through hoarse and hungry calls |
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towards the mirror I look best in, in the back of this dirty hall |
