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