And in the hall of mirrors
The exhibits stand
Look what we can see
Held in our right hand
A golden gun to shoot me
To shoot you and him
Two hands the silver bullet
Whose gun is going to win?
Somethings are golden
when you look at them
from afar
Soon diminish in splendour
The more close up they are
You are neither of those
The closer I get to you
The more I want your skin
Every freckle on it
Every curve
And every grin
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