In and out of the front door, ran twelve back-door angels.
Their hair was a golden-brown —
they didn't see me wink my eye.
`Tis said they put we men to sleep with just a whisper,
And touch the heads of dying dogs — and make them linger.
They carry their candles high — and they light the dark hours.
And sweep all the country clean with pressed and scented wild-flowers.

They grow all their roses red, and paint our skies blue —
drop one penny in every second bowl —
make half the beggars lose,
why do the faithful have such a will to believe in something?
And call it the name they choose,
having chosen nothing.
Think I'll sit down and invent some fool —
some Grand Court Jester.
And next time the die is cast, he'll throw a six or two.
In and out of the back-door, ran one front-door angel,
Her hair was a golden-brown —
she smiled and I think she winked her eye.