I know that woman in the mirror, not quite yours and not quite mine,
Who she is can't say for sure, could be from another tide.
She's the Queen of Sheba, my father's mother,
Her face is low flying Africa.
She says to me she is not me,
So tell me, tell me who is she ?
Tell me, tell me who is she ?
You'd think she owns the streets of Dublin,
They say she's king of Torquay island,
She trades in piracy and sinning
She knows where you go at night.
And when you think you've finally reached her,
She laughs and says,
|