They'd have to be Just like you to be perfect But then you'd hate them too You collect mixed metaphors You hoard well-worn cliche Cling as if they're yours In what you think and what you say But it never amounts to much anyway Stuck in structure you Smashed every mirror and You fetishise the truth that you can't touch Nothing can touch No-one can touch you now As sinister and soft as a spell Laziness or devotion You've got no way to tell The worst conspiracies You've never heard The ones that ring so true You deny every word Just rehashing some-one else's snap defence