An angel stands upon a rose bed   With thorns on each stem      She cries alone   She's all alone      What is this world coming to   When an angel must cry alone?      Selfish bastards      Have you looked in the mirror?   It's a terrible sight   In fact, you have broken the mirror   It has torn your face off      You are now a robot      You and the rest of your cooperative pulses   Are run by a machine, eager to earn their keep   Of the innocence stolen from an angel.