The masquerader in the mirror

appears to be a certain stranger to me

he slips a film of glow through glow on his hand

and paints my features where his face ought to be

young flesh, young frame

slow pulse, no pain

inside my fit on skin

sometimes I wonder just where to begin

I need action

inside my fit on skin

I make a novel of everything

it's like fiction

inside my fit on skin

another side of my twin



The face he fits is unmistakably mine

without a trace he leaves the scene of the crime

the story always reads exactly the same

I need my live protection all the time





Submitted by Michael Hack