Dec. 4: So you think that you're an angel

 So you think that you're an angel

You're the favourite son of heaven

while you drive a borrowed sports car

and you hair plays in the wind.

How the lady at the truck stop

closed up early when you told her

that the sun would soon be setting

and to live with you in sin.

Do your wings hurt, little angel

Or are you too busy lying

on another strange girl's mattress

while you play your evil game?

And the truckers on the outside

blare their horns and scream out curses

while the lady from the truck stop

calls you someone else's name?

Does it feel right, little angel,

when you go to church on Sunday

and you go up for communion

with a serpent in your pants?

Do you think that you're immortal

when you bow before your goddess

and you kiss her brazen stomach

while you're asking her to dance?

So you think that you're an angel

but your wings, child, they are burning

I can see the flaming feathers

as they tumble into hell.

You can say that you're an angel

but your heart beats for the devil

and your halo's turned all rusty

'cause you just don't wear it well.

So you think that you're an angel

as you march to Armageddon

but the women marching with you

have been robbed of all their joy.

And when you finally drop your weapon

you will see the war is over

and that you never were an angel

you were just a little boy.