So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn are vulutures and thieves at your back, the storm keeps on twisting, you keep building the lies, that you make up for all that you lack. It don't make no difference escape me one last time, it's easier to believe, that in this sweet madness all this glorious sadness, that brings me to me knees. In the arms of the angel, fly away from here, from this dark cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear. You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie, you're in the arms of the angel, may you find some comfort here, you're in the arms of the angel, may you find some comfort here.
