Versuri 06. The Angel

The angel rides with hunchbacked children, poison oozing from his engine  
Wieldin' love as a lethal weapon, on his way to hubcap heaven  
Baseball cards poked in his spokes, his boots in oil he's patiently soaked  
The roadside attendant nervously jokes as the angel's tires stroke his precious pavement  
 
The interstate's choked with nomadic hordes  
In Volkswagen vans with full running boards  
Dragging great anchors, followin' dead-end signs into the sores  
The angel rides by humpin' his hunk metal whore  
 
Madison Avenue's claim to fame in a trainer bra with eyes like rain  
She rubs against the weatherbeaten frame and asks the angel for his name  
Off in the distance the marble dome reflects across the flatlands with a naked feel off into parts unknown  
The woman strokes his polished chrome and lies beside the angel's bones