Instead of breaking the mirror of bad luck
It's smashed my image, the shards cut me up
I am a black cat that prowls on the midnight road
Chased by hurried joyriders of life, this is getting old
For what good can I reflect?
What is left of this mess?
Then before, much less.

Lets sing ourselves to bed
Put it all aside, rest for the moon
Lets lay down our weary heads
It was all just too soon.