true images
I’m walking towards a mirror.
It turns out to be an empty frame.
As I get a little nearer
I see a man looking back with my name.
He scratches his head.
I do the same.
I’m a prisoner of the dead,
The man with my name.
He starts in to saying
The sound of my name.
I start in to praying
For the man with my name.
The word strikes true.
It’s not him I can blame.
It’s like I always knew
The man with my name.
There’s a mirror across the hall
It reflects our game,
It’s not played with bats or balls,
It sees me but not the man with my name.
I’m waiting for the era of madness to pass,
For the gift that removes the pain.
I’m waiting for the era of charity that will last.
I’m waiting for the man with my name.
You can look for the truth, climb up a mountain,
Way up in the sky.
In a pool reflecting the mountain,
Down deep in a breathtaking dive.
You can look for the truth, beat away the fog,
Till your eyes go dry.
But in this world, my friend, it’s only mirror images
That never, ever lie, that never, ever lie.