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Planning permission tied to post |
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We read when we're waiting for bus |
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Is always double-checked 'cause we so often suspect |
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They plan to build something on us |
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What they'll build, neither here nor there |
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It's what they'll bury that counts |
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And how far down they'll push us this time |
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And how far back up we'll bounce |
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Angels are born with wings not springs |
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Devils always born with horns |
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And beautiful bird only bothers to sing |
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If beautiful day ever dawns |
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Angels and devils ain't so easy to spot |
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As movies like to portray |
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A devil appears with a cunning veneer |
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You often only notice too late |
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If he says he's got wings keep an eye out for springs |
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Make sure your angel is real |
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And of all of these things it's the song that he sings |
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And how the song makes you feel |
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Angels are born with souls not goals |
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Devils always search for the high |
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So beautiful birds sing from telegraph poles |
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And devil's song fills the whole sky |
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Yes, birdsong belongs |
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In the highest of places not where devil performs |
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Beautiful bird and song |
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Shouldn't bother to sing if audience mutters and yawns |
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Mutters and yawns |
