Smoking barrel in hand, the ground is covered by magnificent light
I just shot an angel, it was the most beautiful thing i've ever seen
A clean shot to the body cavity, the wings turned to dust in a second
Incredibly beautiful in slow mo, every color in the rainbow is emitted
No sound, but the echo of deconstructing of myth
I stand the only optimist left, not a victim
But pessimists destroying evangilists
Top of the list i have, i forgot my thought
Let me recollect, i'm distraught by the guilt
But yet, the beauty was so fine
And pa**ionately fatal like time
I'm standing over if as i can see my reflection
I look myself in the mirror and i get an erection
Who is the man in the mirror sleeping in the angel's dust?
Who is the man in the mirror sleeping in the angel's dust?
Would it be considered irrational to k** for the art?
And who would be responsible for rippin' angels apart?
Do they know for what purpose they would be dying?
In heaven, do you believe there's any angels crying?
Smoke and barrel in hand
I stand over top everything my society's based on
There's a body with wings and my face is on it
The situation is vague but i'm upon it
The torso is not human and everything around it is consumed by serenity
The spectators even me 'cause i'm so close to the dead angel
Someone has to touch it, i'm able, can i live with the action?
Does beauty justify satisfaction for a fraction
Of the moment i was lost in the thought?
We're shooting angels