The PowerBook died, so I'm back to 4-tracking these things. Barely Lyrics:
Told me the angels were holding the angles; in total, the odds were okay. To say that they could not pray was breaking the moment, and I can't remember if shallow or deep was the ticking mislead me away today. How small are you? I met her in Tokyo to talk to that angel and tell her that we are living and breathing machines. Tell me, tell me that God must have sent her [from heaven above us to]. Tell us that we are all dead. I'm dead [in my head] I'm dead. How small are you?