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Bowie, David - The Mirror - текст песни


Wash your face before your faded make-up makes a mark
The mirror will watch over you
Pierrot never comes so pack your face and chase the dark
The mirror's hung up on you
Don't be last, your friends and your reflection
It's all so direction now
Poor Harlequin, you're quite an exception
Fay troubadour, on a downer
Gay Harlequin, doesn't believe in you
Doesn't believe it's true, such a downer.   
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