He was just an ordinary Angel – he hadn’t gotten his Glory yet.
He was a little down on his luck – he could never perform on the harp the way God wanted.
He sat on a curb of gold and smoked something orange.
His girlfriend, she fell a few millennia ago.
Yea, she couldn’t keep from thinking how much more beautiful she was than all the others.
He finds it difficult to keep her off his mind.
He visits humans and sits on their eyelids, he likes to watch them struggle with sleep.
Every once in a while he makes a man’s infant daughter smile or teaches a boy the magic of blonde hair thrown by the wind.
Most of the time he just drinks and wonders how Man is supposed to understand Jesus, if he – an Angel, who gets to see the Son every hundred years or so, still has no idea what the fuck is going on.
He goes home after a long day of playing doctor to a fatally flawed race and puts on Bob Dylan.
He thinks, “Jesus, help them, they’re getting more insane by the instant.”
“In school they taught us that God wins the fight in the end, but he better hurry up before “It’s all over now baby blue…“
