The angel rides with hunchbacked children, poison oozing from his engine
Wielding' 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 stores
The angel rides by humpin' his hunk metal whore
Madison Avenues's claim to fame in a trainer bra with eyes like rain
She rubs against the weather-beaten 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
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