It's the coldest night of the year in our town.
Here at the back of the night they don't even bother to advertise.
Warm and softly brutalised by sweet saturation.
We turn our backs on the world outside for higher considerations,
Like the lies we believed because we wanted to.
And all the lies we told.
And Angel Station is still closed.
Unfair or unfortunate?
Here at the back of the night I'm not sure we still care.
You want a human interest story?
Wanna get down underneath?
Ah everytime you're picking on a human interest story,
You'll just end up losing teeth.
'Coz there are lies you believe because you wish them true
And there are lies you're told.
And Angel Station is still closed.
Angel Station is still closed.
All the lies you believed because you wanted to,
And all the lies you told.
Now Angel Station is still closed.
Angel Station is still closed.
Yeah there's chickens coming home
But the station is still closed.
Ah let it all come on home
The station's staying closed.