It's not me looking out from the mirror,
and hasn't been for too long to remember.
The eyes that look out from the glass,
the face they lie in,
the tales they tell,
and the lack of life within,
are lights from the grave,
a path for the dead to walk among us.
I see the monster inside,
as clear as a sunlit day,
but he hides in the mirror,
and he's hidden from family,
and he's hidden from children and friends,
but he's never hidden from you.
You left when you saw him clear,
ran from the terror,
ran from the rage.
How long before the blood
washed from your skin,
and the death smell left the room
you lived in,
or has sleeping with the Devil turned you 'round,
turned your very soul to his,
turned you.... too?
I see you still,
as you once were then,
before the fear was in your eyes,
and leaving was your salvation.
I remember love,
and tender whispers, late,
in bed,
and I remember when it turned,
when the stranger came to the room,
and stayed,
and how he made you cry.
I look in the eyes in the mirror,
no longer strange to me,
but then no longer me,
and try to name the man I see,
looking out from the reflection there.
For me, he only lives in the mirror,
it's still the man I was,
when I look from within,
but for you I'm the man in the mirror,
I know that's the man you left,
as he's all that you could see.
I don't cry for your leaving,
I cry for me.
JC 2009