Tuesday, December 04, 2007

How To Make Angel Dust

I'm wondering things I never
Thought to wonder at before
Though I swear someone told me
'bout the devil and the blue sea
And how deep and fine the line
But to some things I resign --
I'll never find that opened door
From now to then or forever.

Oh, I said I used to be a rake
'fore they closed the gates of hell
Now I'm wandering down the street
Waiting for fancy and me to meet
And I swear this stranger told me
'bout things even angels could be
If we poke pins in them, well --
We've got nothing to forsake.

The angels don't dance on heads of pins
As voodoo cuts through hollow bones
And there's this sound I'll never hear
Again when we clip their wings I fear
It was so high -- and very sure
But down here just not quite that pure
And it's just like flipping over stones
To watch their tears turn into sins.

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