| 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. |