| I used to sit on the stool
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| Watch him shaveIf my memory is right I was 7 or 8
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| In the eyes of a child he was no less than great
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| But time would prove any’thing could change
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| Cus’he was 2 old fashioned When I was 16
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| Not near as smart As my buddies an me
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| But the only friend I’ve grow up to need
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| Got called home jus shy of 63
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| Now the man in the mirror
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| Looks so familiar
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| He’s wearin that same crocked smile
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| Same lines of worry
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| Kids growin up to early & grey hairs from extra mouths
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| I thought I’d never see him agin
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| But little did I know I’d turn in
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| To the man in the mirror
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| Now I realise
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| Just how wise he was
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| Sometimes without talkin
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| He still taught us
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| His strong hands of justice
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| Would end with ay hug
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| He knew nothing was stronger
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| Than the power of love
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| I can truthfully say
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| That I know how he felt
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| Cus jus the other night
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| When my son needed help
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| When I fixed his little plane
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| With the one piece left
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| He looked at me in a way
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| I never saw myself
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| Now the man in the mirror
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| Looks so familiar
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| He’s wearin that same crocked smile
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| Same lines of worry kids growin up to early & grey hairs from extra mouths
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| I thought I’d never see him agin
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| But little did I know I’d turn in
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| I thought I’d never see him agin
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| But little did I know I’d turn in |