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 gla** 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