| There is a beggar in the mirror babe
|
| He’s been standing there since noon
|
| He’s asking for a sacrament
|
| But he’s singing out of tune
|
| There is a beggar in the mirror babe
|
| He’s got a monkey on his knees
|
| He jitters as he falls asleep
|
| Reminiscent of the trees
|
| Oh what a strange, strange way
|
| To make me start my day
|
| With the news
|
| Of theses Subconscious, Overly-Familiar Blues
|
| There is a French girl in the mirror babe
|
| She’s wearing satin strings
|
| Her dog is named Toulouse Lautrec
|
| He’s seen some dirty things
|
| There’s a piano in the mirror babe
|
| But all it’s keys are black
|
| The monkey’s playing muted horn
|
| The French girl’s playing cello in the back
|
| Oh what a strange, strange way
|
| To make me start my day
|
| With the news
|
| Of theses Subconscious, Overly-Familiar Blues
|
| There is a bottle in the mirror babe
|
| And it’s full of past regrets
|
| The beggar and the French girl
|
| Are drinking to forget
|
| There is a windmill in the mirror babe
|
| Which the monkey painted red
|
| There are hookers singing lullabies
|
| For all the tears the beggar shed
|
| Oh what a strange, strange way
|
| To make me start my day
|
| With the news
|
| Of theses Subconscious, Overly-Familiar Blues
|
| There is a midget in the mirror babe
|
| And a giant on his head
|
| And the midget’s made of gummy-bears
|
| And the giant’s made of led
|
| There is a beggar in the mirror babe
|
| He’s howling at the moon
|
| He’s asking for repentance
|
| But he’s singing out of tune
|
| Oh what a strange, strange way
|
| To make me start my day
|
| With the news
|
| Of theses Subconscious, Overly-Familiar Blues |