He's but a creature distorted by the rules,
A product of us all rejected by the schools.
How sad the one, the one with homemade 4th of July,
How sad, his kind, that cry… like angels in the night.
He's out of season, needs no reason why,
With hands that only accompany last rites.
How sad, the one, the one… who waits for foggy nights,
How sad, his kind, that cry… like angels in the night.
Cry, cry for angels in the night,
Cry, cry for angels in the night.
His thoughts uneven, a past that would define,
The final chapter of his state of mind.
Whose stars refuse to shine, refuse to shine at night.
How sad, his kind, that cries… like angels in the night.
Cry, cry for angels in the night,
Cry, cry for angels in the night.
The darkness in his head weaves his pain-filled web.
His heart froze up once upon a time,
The silent cry of a life that's so unkind.
How sad, each cry, a cry that echoes through the night,
How sad, his kind, that cries… like angels in the night.
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