| If I’m the mirror and you’re the image
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| Then what’s the secret between the two?
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| These 'Me's and 'You's, how many can there be?
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| Oh, I don’t mind all that around the place
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| As long as you keep it well away from me
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| I’ve begun to regret that we ever met between the dimensions
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| It gets such a strain to pretend that the change
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| Is anything but cheap with your infant pique
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| And your angst pretensions, sometimes you act like a creep
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| And now I’m standing in the corner, looking at the room and the furniture
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| In cheap imitation of alienation and grief
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| And now we’re going to the kitchen, fix ourselves a drink and a cigarette
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| Getting no closer to being the joker or thief
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| Who’s a joker who’s the thief
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| Who’s a joker who’s the thief
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| Still, I reflect, this nervous wreck who stands before me
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| Can see as well, can surely tell that he’s not yet free
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| He can turn aside but can no more ignore me
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| Than know which one of us is he
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| Than tell what we are going to be, than know which one of is me
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| Take the mirror away, take the mirror away
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| Take the mirror away
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| I know that it’s gone but the real one will stay |