David Bowie - The Mirror lyrics

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.