I will go to the barbers, I will sit down in the chair
I will be confronted by the image there

In a grey and shiny mirror, in a theatrical glowing light
I will see my every wrinkle and blemish in my sight

Every bit of puffy flesh, the twisted mouth and jowl
The gooey eyes so sad, I’m like a coal sack in a chair

In the light that highlights the haircut as it forms
But not the man sitting there deformed

So I’ll spend the time averting worried eyes
From the big dark mirror in the barber’s dive

Until the barber picks up the looking glass
And asks me to admire his work, front and back

I will nod assent and move my lips and pay
Then I will be relieved to make my getaway