Club Banging Introspection
Club Banging Introspection
Mirror, mirror on the wall, you've been here. You've seen it all.
Tell me your tales, pour out your stories.
Look at me, talking to you, to no avail.
What do you see? I see me. Young and free. A depth hidden just beyond the surface.
A hard worker with a passion for life, balancing on the edge of a knife, that sometimes asks "is it worth it?"
You see my frustrations, you see my pain, a beat in the background, a sound to live by, yet no fame.
Who needs it? Not me. Privacy is too big of a price to pay for the recognition and to be financially free.
I wonder what it is like sometimes, all that glitz and glamour.
What can you tell me oh mirror? Will I even hear you if you talk through all this noise and clamor?
Your secrets stay hidden, just beyond the surface. It's ok.
You can see mine. I know you won't tell a soul. Even of they smash you, you won't let a whisper roll, from those glassy lips.
Talking to you is a trip. I know I'm just talking to myself.
You just hold me still, like a toy on the shelf. I can see it.
Like D always says, " stop talking and be it." That's all I've been doing.
Twenty three years in the making. Never once did I feel like I was walking around, faking.
Half the people I see are doing just that. There is no shame in being real, but they're more concerned about falling flat, so they act, do what they do, as I watch them fail. They can't stand the test of time.
But where am I going? Am I any better?
Working every day, feeling my spirit flowing, I'm still growing. Yet the results seem minuscule. Some days I feel like a fool. A court jester.
That's just old wounds talking. The voice of people who doubt me, poking at me, letting my wounds fester.
I know I got to keep doing me. I won't ever be happy if I try to fake it. That's no way to be free.
Looking at the man in the mirror, I wonder of Michael was still here, what would he see?
Enough chit chat. I got to get back and clear my head. Maybe this calls for a soothing walk, then straight to bed?
Just remember, I still want to know your stories. The triumphs you've seen, the many falls from glory.
Still won't tell me? I see, I see. I see me.
Oh mirror, mirror, on the wall, won't you tell me all you see?
Mirror, mirror on the wall, you've been here. You've seen it all.
Tell me your tales, pour out your stories.
Look at me, talking to you, to no avail.
What do you see? I see me. Young and free. A depth hidden just beyond the surface.
A hard worker with a passion for life, balancing on the edge of a knife, that sometimes asks "is it worth it?"
You see my frustrations, you see my pain, a beat in the background, a sound to live by, yet no fame.
Who needs it? Not me. Privacy is too big of a price to pay for the recognition and to be financially free.
I wonder what it is like sometimes, all that glitz and glamour.
What can you tell me oh mirror? Will I even hear you if you talk through all this noise and clamor?
Your secrets stay hidden, just beyond the surface. It's ok.
You can see mine. I know you won't tell a soul. Even of they smash you, you won't let a whisper roll, from those glassy lips.
Talking to you is a trip. I know I'm just talking to myself.
You just hold me still, like a toy on the shelf. I can see it.
Like D always says, " stop talking and be it." That's all I've been doing.
Twenty three years in the making. Never once did I feel like I was walking around, faking.
Half the people I see are doing just that. There is no shame in being real, but they're more concerned about falling flat, so they act, do what they do, as I watch them fail. They can't stand the test of time.
But where am I going? Am I any better?
Working every day, feeling my spirit flowing, I'm still growing. Yet the results seem minuscule. Some days I feel like a fool. A court jester.
That's just old wounds talking. The voice of people who doubt me, poking at me, letting my wounds fester.
I know I got to keep doing me. I won't ever be happy if I try to fake it. That's no way to be free.
Looking at the man in the mirror, I wonder of Michael was still here, what would he see?
Enough chit chat. I got to get back and clear my head. Maybe this calls for a soothing walk, then straight to bed?
Just remember, I still want to know your stories. The triumphs you've seen, the many falls from glory.
Still won't tell me? I see, I see. I see me.
Oh mirror, mirror, on the wall, won't you tell me all you see?
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