(tribal cruisin')

• from atop this mountain, we will watch the sun come out, crash the horizon, wake the moon from her sleep no matter how deep it may be.
• from within these shadows we will see the colors change, in my reflection and all around our heads, no matter how still we may be.
• on this currents wings, we will hear the angels sing. in these tainted wombs we will see the angels move.
• a broken wing, a bitter taste, an angel sings of ugly hate. a bitter smack across my face, an angel sings of saving grace.
• from beneath the waters edge, we will hear the angels weep. they speak with affection towards all the devils kin. no matter how foul they may be.
• from beside our mother's hand, we will see the children sleep. within superstition our fathers voice will fade. no matter how loud it may seem.
• broken wings, a bitter taste. the angels sing of ugly hate.