Angel's wings and broken dreams.

An observation of the night culture, the weekend's importance.

On angel’s wings, and broken dreams

Does my soul take flight

With drunken beings, my heart sings

We howl into the night

 

The burdens of the day,

Quickly fade away.

The moment we’re in

Is life’s start and end,

If only for a while,

Engulfed in denial,

Our struggles and trials silence.

For the now, we have no penance.

Our lives lie in wait,

For the new day’s dawn to break,

Where the crosses we bare return.

Under their weight we yearn,

For a break from this labor,

To gain some kind of favor.

Until the last breath felt,

This hand we have been dealt,

Will taint us ‘til our end,

To its will we shall bend.