When the blank-faced moon is rising
So to watch the shades of cold
Slowly walking through the shapeless night
There's a silhouette that plods alone
And he's weaving tunes of love that he will never sing
No! And he's aware;
And his hands will reach to something when he starts
to fall...
...Into a dream where he's the hero of the night,
The wisest messiah
A lonely pilgrim merely alive
Seeking sanctuary when home is far away
Solo: J. King
There he lies, by the dimmest light,
Unseen to the faces in the windows
The Street invites, The Street consumes,
Drains the mind and waste the feelings
Then sobriety becomes a long forgotten dream
Yeah! The Street is magic
And every phantom on the corner helps him to recall...
...Every moment when he felt he was alive
Adrift on the ocean of his thoughts
And now, sighing, longing for the sun again,
He'll recite rhymes of hope
"Lovely Angels of the night, do come
Lovely Angels of the nigh, arise
Bring me forth your light of peace
And surround me with your grace and ease
Holy Angels of the night, I pray
Holy Angels of the night, awake
In the climax of my doom
I will have the gutter share
My darkest secrets"