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
And the tears rolled 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.