An apparition at the bus stop
Chased by unreal appeals
To vanity, not flattery
But pure, corrupted vanity
If there is no second
Then there will always be a third
Unreal spectre, so freshly cold
After wishes and pleas
Compliments slip too easy
From the lazy tongue of love
And they choke in the throat
Of everything higher or lower
What's the use in a costume?
Well, it gives you a hat to doff
If nothing else