The angels play on their horns all day,;
The whole earth in progression seems to pass by.;
But does anyone hear the music they play,;
Does anyone even try?

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,;
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,;
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.

You know, the streets are filled with vipers;
Who've lost all ray of hope,;
You know, it ain't even safe no more;
In the palace of the Pope.