In the mirror I look at a beard that took a year to grow
Patchy hair, at which I did stare, until it began to show
Told it looked like sin as it slowly filled in, grey and white
Hairs of sorrow, hope I did borrow, sunny days, calm and fright
Now its grown in, hairs of steel and tin some tarnished others bright
Each strand, a memory to understand, each marks life\'s fight
Some they are small others grow tall, colored black, white and grey
People don\'t want to see my history, bare your chin they say
To cut for the crowd what I am proud would be cruel betrayal
Hairs of gloss bent by loss twisted by pain, but hope did not fail
To throw away what can\'t be gained in a day born of travail
To cover a trembling chin when I couldn\'t win, my chainmail
Leonardo had one, so did God\'s son both looked just fine
Would you shave santa\'s face or Christ in his place what of mine