We see the mirror dimly
as we squint to a sharper gaze.
As night falls, and the crow calls
we know the darkened day.
Crouched and timid I pace forward slowly,
and I see the mirror change.
A desolate call, the crow is all,
a reflection turned sideways.
Crooked mirrors cant decieve the mind,
only the fool that crawls in them.
To hide himself beyond the crest
of the illusion that has gripped him.
Though through a bent reflection,
I know what I pass to you:
crooked mirrors and smoke don't lie,
it's the fool we call true.
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