Glimpsing at the last shards of your shattered,
Your savage reflection lies no more.
"Its only the mirror's imperfection"
Shrieked the Banshee, shrieking out into the bedlom.
Wailing and begging the looking glass for affection,
Echoing out from the fractured shards in each direction
A dying voice screams "You must see yourself in many people".
Asking questions, floating suggestions, a new infection?
You're really nice, You're really thin.
You've got my clothes on,
Where id me within?
