Was it a huntsman or a player

That made you pay the cost

That now assumes relaxed positions

And prostitutes your loss?

Were you tortured by your own thirst

In those pleasures that you seek

That made you Tom the curious

That makes you James the weak? And you claim you got something going

Something you call unique

But I've seen your self-pity showing

As the tears roll down your cheeks. Soon you know I'll leave you

And I'll never look behind

'Cos I was born for the purpose

That crucifies your mind.

So con, convince your mirror

As you've always done before

Giving substance to shadows

Giving substance ever more. And you assume you got something to offer

Secrets shiny and new

But how much of you is repetition

That you didn't whisper to him too.