The Old Holland

I was sick with that old Margaret, for four years, near about
Young, dumb and dumbstruck when Margie, she blew my candle out
I've got to have me a partner if I'm to sell it all
Save the mirror I look best in, in the back of that dirty hall

Stare through the beers and year and the bags and bruises fade
Those grim lines turn sharp and fine, like laws the pilgrim laid
Beaming through all the brag and cuss, promising the fall
At the mirror I look best in, in the back of that dirty hall

Soak up their mislaid luck and the floor is a pond of piss
The brown glass throws a face back, wondering how it came to this
Something about being there at last makes a man stand tall
That's the mirror I look best in, in the back of that dirty hall

I can't take up another drink and fight them now no more
They're all moving, you're one of them, through that Old Holland door
I'm wishing for a pardon through hoarse and hungry calls
Towards the mirror I look best in, in the back of this dirty hall