The Angel - Bruce Springsteen

The angel rides with hunch-backed children, poison oozing from his engine\nWieldin love as a lethal weapon, on his way to hubcap heaven\nBaseball cards poked in his spokes, his boots in oil he’s patiently soaked\nThe roadside attendant nervously jokes as the angels tires strokes his precious\npavement\nThe interstates choked with nomadic hordes in volkswagen vans with full running\nboards dragging great anchors\nFollowin dead-end signs into the sores\nThe angel rides by humpin his hunk metal whore\nMadison avenues claim to fame in a trainer bra with eyes like rain\nShe rubs against the weather-beaten frame and asks the angel for his name\nOff in the distance the marble dome reflects across the flatlands with a naked\nfeel off into parts unknown\nThe woman strokes his polished chrome and lies beside the angels bones