The Angels Songtext
von Soft Plastics

Behold the angels upon thy head
Watch their jester′s dance up on your worshipping bed
Their joy drowns out the marching chants of the worshipping dead
Not dead but death a figurehead of profit, he said

Well, I won't be alone
I am the crossbeam of your home
I′ll ingest grass and confess to a stone
The waves wear off, and I ascend into the tower again

Your sister prophesized your lost hand in mine
Nestled in the armpit of the heart's lung I sigh
There are riches, there are floods, there are ways drowned in time
Call this an order: you get the men out of the mines


We left them alone
We had to turn our heads to the Minister's ringing phone
They let the Ironworkers fall into the sea
Deeds, writ and recalled
In the books said to burn in the fourth internecine
Crumpled their names
Screamed and whipped parchment into the womb of fire

Rang, I rang, I rang the bell to retire
But ring, ring the alarm: something emerges from the womb of fire
Rang, rang, I rang the bell to retire

When something emerges can I lay my head up on your lap
Run my hands through my hair and sigh
Am I tired