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The Angel

Bruce Springsteen2010年12月20日



The Angel - Bruce Springsteen

The angel rides with hunch-backed 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 angels tires strokes his precious pavement


The interstates 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 humping


His hunk metal whore


Madison avenues 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 angels bones