Angels With Dirty Faces

Flying high

over the mountains and the meadows and the trees

watching, waiting, for the angels to be set free

for heaven sent, they may be

but heaven sent, they did not stay;

these angels with their dirty faces

trying to redeem themselves of their destructive fates

as they sit and sing their mournful tale

hoping to lure someone of pure innocence

to set them free, of their gilded cage

so they may return to the realms

where we dream to be.

So, flying high,

over the mountains and the meadows and the trees

I wait for the impossible to be

hoping, pleading,

for the angels to be set free

for theirs faces to be washed clean

so they can return to the realms where they belong,

so they may watch over you and me.