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.