Mirror, Mirror Poem by Mad Gone

Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of them all?
The frame, a pose, I hesitate,
The mirror, I fear to break.

Sober much too soon,
To watch the bright full moon.
Lack of meaning, much to clear,
In the faces of those you hold dear.

Clinch hands and celebrate,
While we learn to cease to hate.
New moment of passing time,
With Big Ben and the fatal chime.

While time ploughs it furrows,
Scales tipped in favour of our sorrows.
Who is this stranger I hold hands,
And has she sorted out her barren lands?

Cruel fate playing out its silly joke,
On good homes, God fearing Christian folk.
Called home too soon, once again,
Our understanding begins to drain.