In and out of the front door, ran twelve back-door angels.
Their hair was a golden-brown — they didn’t see me wink my eye.
‘Tis said they put we men to sleep with just a whisper,
And touch the heads of dying dogs — and make them linger.
They carry their candles high — and they light the dark hours.
And sweep all the country clean with pressed and scented wild-flowers.
[Instrumental]
They grow all their roses red, and paint our skies blue —
Drop one penny in every second bowl — make half the beggars lose.
Why do the faithful have such a will to believe in something?
And call it the name they choose, having chosen nothing.
[Instrumental]
Think I’ll sit down and invent some fool — some Grand Court Jester.
And next time the die is cast, he’ll throw a six or two.
In and out of the back-door, ran one front-door angel,
Her hair was a golden-brown —
She smiled, and I think she winked her eye.