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
