Bruce Springsteen - The Angel Lyrics

The angel rides with hunch-backed children
Poison oozin' 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 runnin' boards
Draggin' 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 bone