In the arms of an angel, maybe you find some confort here.

So tired of the straight line, and everywhere you turn. There's vultures and thieves at your back and the storm keeps on twisting. You keep on building the lies that you make up for all that you lack It don't make no difference escaping one last time. It's easier to believe in this sweet madness. Oh, This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.