Springsteen, Bruce - The Angel Lyrics
The angel rides with hunchbacked 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
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 weatherbeaten 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
Other Lyrics by Artist
- Springsteen, Bruce - We Are Alive
- Springsteen, Bruce - The Ghost Of Tom Joad
- Springsteen, Bruce - The Wall
- Springsteen, Bruce - Dream Baby Dream
- Springsteen, Bruce - American Beauty
- Springsteen, Bruce - Mary Mary
- Springsteen, Bruce - Hurry Up Sundown
- Springsteen, Bruce - Hey Blue Eyes
- Springsteen, Bruce - Baby I
- Springsteen, Bruce - You Can't Judge A Book By The Cover
- Springsteen, Bruce - Hunter Of Invisible Game
- Springsteen, Bruce - This Is Your Sword
- Springsteen, Bruce - Swallowed Up (In The Belly Of The Whale)
- Springsteen, Bruce - American Land
- Springsteen, Bruce - High Hopes
- Springsteen, Bruce - Harry's Place
- Springsteen, Bruce - American Skin (41 Shots)
- Springsteen, Bruce - Just Like Fire Would
Rand Lyrics
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Springsteen, Bruce The Angel Comments
Reminds me of my life rolling down the interstates following Southern Pacific. With eyes like rain. Many years ago
Bruce.....the poet.
This, Racing In The Street and Stolen Car are my best Springsteen Songs
God. Like a hot metal pole through my gut.
Hutchback children are kids with backpacks.He was a body guard for a bunch of kids walking them home from school everyday.
this upright bass enlightens...
embarrassingly good.
livingstonmail his first two were and ,still are, my reach to at the end of a night when I just want to drift off to peaceful slumber. So young and soooo good.
One of my all time favourites ♡
one of the most best. thank you sooo much bruce! 4ever.
Nice finding this. My fav if any is I'm on Fire..
this tranquility of voice, show me today.
Personally I felt that he should have said: "....dead end signs into the storms"
No man, if he's following "dead end" signs into the source, he's going to the literal dead end.
That would have been a big mistake.
According to the stats on the song on wiki, it's about a motorcycle outlaw. Like it. Thanks!
This bears a resemblance to Mercutio's "Queen Mab" speech from "Romeo and Juliet" by William Shakespeare.
One of his best songs...
Well said... you've summed the song up perfectly ! Roy Bittans piano is a masterpiece of simplicity, yet so effective.
The piano part is played by David Sancious with jazz great Richard Davis on stand up bas.
It's actually original E Street Band pianist David Sancious.
Mesmerising song....fantasic imagery and a sparse but engaging arrangement.
followin' dead-end signs into the sores << SORES? REally? I had hoped it was "source"
well, i love the song anyway..
haha - i thought it was source also.
Baseball cards poked in his spokes. Made me think of me and my little brother back in the 60's.
If we got some extra money we used balloons
The angel drags children noone see.
i think it's about a second coming of a modern day christ trying to lead the lost souls blocking his troops from reaching their hubcap heaven he may fail and be struck down beside his queen but is an angel for having faith to try
one of the more devastating American ballads.
The angel rides with hunchbacked 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
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 weatherbeaten 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
into there souls
The complex simpler times are evoked.
I love the line about the interstate being "choked with nomadic hordes". It's kind of like a proto-born to run with a third person narrative and a sad ending.
ever wonder if that girl you once parked with an jammed to this song while smokin one on a warm spring night where is she now
one of best songs he ever did.
An absolute masterpiece.