* What the hell was I talking about in that song? I didn't bother, I
didn't worry about that
(22-04-1996, London
THE
ANGEL
The angel rides with hunch-back 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 stroke his precious pavement
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 stroke 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
* ¿De qué demonios estaba hablando en esa canción? No me importaba, no
me preocupaba por eso
(22-04-1996, Londres)
EL ÁNGEL
El ángel viaja con hijos jorobados
Rezumando veneno de su motor
Empuñando amor como un arma letal
En su camino al paraíso de llantas
Cartas de béisbol pegadas en sus altavoces
Sus botas en aceite embadurnó pacientemente
El vigilante de la gasolinera bromea nervioso
Mientras los neumáticos del ángel golpean su precioso pavimento
La interestatal está atascada de hordas nómadas
En furgonetas Volkswagen con estribos completos arrastrando grandes
anclas
Persiguiendo señales sin salida hasta la extenuación
El ángel conduce arrastrando su puta de trozos de metal
La aspirante a famosa de Madison Avenue
En un simple sujetador, con ojos como la lluvia
Se frota contra la carrocería gastada por el tiempo
Y pregunta al ángel por su nombre
En la distancia, la cúpula de mármol
Se refleja a través de la llanura con una pasión desnuda hacia partes
desconocidas
La mujer acaricia su cromo pulido
Y se acuesta junto a los huesos del ángel
2009
1996
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