Testo The Angel

The angel rides with hunch-backed children, poison oozing from his engineWieldin' love as a lethal weapon, on his way to hubcap heavenBaseball cards poked in his spokes, his boots in oil he's patiently soakedThe roadside attendant nervously jokes as the angel's tires strokes his precious pavementThe interstate's choked with nomadic hordesin Volkswagen vans with full running boards dragging great anchorsFollowin' dead-end signs into the soresThe angel rides by humpin' his hunk metal whoreMadison Avenue's claim to fame in a trainer bra with eyes like rainShe rubs against the weather-beaten frame and asks the angel for his nameOff in the distance the marble domereflects across the flatlands with a naked feel off into parts unknownThe woman strokes his polished chrome and lies beside the angel's bones