I'm a hypnagogic terrorist, I'm a hypochondriac blessed
With the knowledge of everyones who's dead
And the way, the way, the way that they all dressed
I feel my bile rising, like so many red blue jeans
Tell me babe whatever happened to all those 20 something dreams
I must need the angel
Cuz she sure as hell don't need me
I must need the angel
So I can have a place to be
I'm in the excavator, I'm holding knives in my mouth
It's out of obligation since I was forced to move down south
I'm in Port Chicago, waiting on my angel to report
She's got 20 faces, and her hair, her hair's 8 miles short
I must need the angel
Cuz she sure as hell don't need me
I must need the angel
So I can have a place to be
When I die burn me to ash, throw away everything I own
Let him play his trumpet, don't ever unlock my cell phone
If you hear these songs tonight, and think they might be about you
They probably are, so spare us both the trouble man
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know the answers to
I must need the angel
Cuz she sure as hell don't need me
I must need the angel
So I can have a place to be
She don't need me
A place to be
I need the angel
I need the angel