I'm a hypnagogic terrorist
I'm a hypochondriac blessed
With the knowledge of everyones who's dead
and the way they all dressed
I feel my bile rising
Like so many red blue jeans
Tell me babe whatever happened
To all those 20 something dreams
I must need the angel
Cuz she sure as hell don't need me
I must need the angel
So I can have a place to be
I'm in the excavator
I'm holding knives in my mouth
It's out of obligation since
I was forced to move down south
I'm in Port Chicago
Waiting on my angel to report
She's got 20 faces
And her hair's 8 miles short
When I die burn me to ash
Throw away everything I own
Let him play his trumpet
And don't ever unlock my cell phone
If you hear these songs tonight
And think they might be about you
They probably are so spare us both the trouble man
And don't ask questions you don't wanna know the answers to
I must need the angel
Cuz she sure as hell don't need me
I must need the angel
So I can have a place to be
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