The Mask of Fifty Mirrors

The glass is cold and hungry for a face, A pancake-face in a mirror made of bone. You step into a different kind of space, Where you are never truly quite alone. Welcome to the hall of the refracted! The I that is not I begins to scream! A thousand puppets, perfectly acted— The mechanical laughter of a dream! The street is full of men with four-eyes each, They wear your coat and walk with all your pride. A split-tongue and a bureaucratic screech, With nowhere left for anyone to hide. (Lead): I saw my shadow leaning on the wall, (Response): It whispered things I didn't want to know. (Lead): It said there's nothing left of us at all, (Response): Just paper faces in a puppet show. Split the frame! Which of us owns the name? The carnival is drowning in its light, A thousand mirrors screaming in a row. The city's syntax shatters in the night, As we watch our reflections begin to grow.