My mirror cries, my mirror sighs
But mine are dry, too dry to cry
The glass it seems, has cracking seams
That seep of wine, as red as mine,
But mine withold, and far too cold
To drip and fall, to splash and crawl,
But mirror mine, was never fine.
My mirror speaks, of sorrow's weeps
And weeping by, the seconds die
But silence stills, and lips with pills
Drink both by brine, down sorrows' mine,
Tho' differ we, the same we be
My mirror dies, whilst I in lies:
That mirror mine, is all to fine.
My mirror knows, it barely glows
No light to shed, on who is dead
No breath to breathe, no breath to leave
Yet I do shine, appearing fine,
Yes differ we, but same we be
For none to see, except for me
That I am fine, but mirror mine.
