I looked and thought he looks like me

amazing what you see in the mirror.

But that's only a reflection of what goes on in the mind of John, it's like a windmill up here, sails going around, corn being ground into the flower of my youth.

it doesn't do to be namby-pamby about the nitty gritty when you live in this city, you have to take the rough with the rougher get tough and be tougher or drown and suffer the fate that would await you if you were honest and decent, from the back row   (again) he shouts, like a good Catholic or Protestant?

Good God I reply, I'd rather dye my hair green than to be seen as one of them or perhaps it's one of those who knows

and in the mirror, I look again and see the rain pouring down because it wasn't the mirror it was the window and do you know I wasn't surprised at all.