Too many angels near the ground, buzzing 'round like lovely killer bees,
Little knick-knack cherubs, busy bodies always putting on the squeeze,
All those shrill celestial voices and a million phony holy wills to please,
While our vain and pointless genuflections block the heart's connection to our knees.
Yeah, I want you,
You're the only one I need,
I need you,
You're the only one that bleeds,
Little knick-knack busy body.
Little knick-knack busy body.
Sheets and feathers, tarnished halos, costumes for these wingless, grounded saints,
They're either fallen, or they're broken up, or a little bit too precious and quaint,
There's not enough glue to mend them all, not enough spackle or paint,
Always leaving much too early all predictably arriving much too late.
Yes, I want you,
You're the only one I need,
I need you,
You're the only one that bleeds.
Far too many angels running 'round.
They're choose you, amuse you or fill you with dread,
They're beneath your feet and over your head,
You see them hitch hiking or under your bed,
They hang around gift shops pretending they're dead.
Too many angels near the ground, buzzing 'round like lovely killer bees,
Little knick-knack cherubs, busy bodies always putting on the squeeze.
Yeah, I want you,
You're the only one I need,
I need you,
You're the only one that bleeds.
