Looking into a mirror
I see my image across from me.
But how much of me do I really see?

Sometimes it seems that others know me better than myself.
There are truths I can't acknowledge.
Why can't I see me?

Who have I become?
I am blind to who I am.
The shattered glass is pasted together
Fooling me.

It's an illusion;
I'm that Stepford girl deep inside
But from myself, it's a fact I manage to hide.

Maybe one day I'll wake up and see
That that girl in the mirror
Really isn't me.