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Tuesday, 20 October 2015

An Angel's Birth

There was an old sound castle
      Made of sand and gravel
            That we built like an outlaw band
About a hitch-hiker rebel
      Who should've won a medal
            For killing that creep and sinking that van
You played that machine
      And the way that it screamed
            Was a blade that was made of wood
That could cut through steel
      And make a hitch-hiker real
            And I still ain't ever played it that good

If I could find
      And share a piece of my mind
            With that old timer they call Death
I'd give him a list
      Of a thousand pieces of shit
            That should've gone first but haven't gone yet
I'd rip him 'bout his job
      Say he's been working too long
            Take that scythe from him, show him I could do it better
I'd ride a pale horse howling
      Like a mad dog dancing like a drunkard
            With a new blade and a dead man's vendetta

For all this hurt
      A man's death is an angel's birth
If there were words and I knew them
      I would use them but I'm sorry I don't
So I'll keep you in mind
      With music dark and feathers white
            And a song about an angel made of beard of bone

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