The Angel

The angel rides with hunchback 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 strokes his precious pavement

Well, 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 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