The weeping angels turn to 
stone,
shattered silently as they
groan,
morbid feelings from up
above,
a silent tear from a peaceful
dove.

Waves cascade across the
shore,
where wanted angels want for
more,
and tears of innocence reign on
down,
immortal souls don't make a 
sound.

Envious eyes they look
upon,
as they try to sing a joyous 
song,
of love and doubt and fear and
pain,
but in the end they find no
gain.

The devils seek to know their
place,
to turn you thus from their own 
grace,
what lies within your heart and
soul,
but innocence is your only
goal.

And Shepard's seek to gather their
flock,
ruled by the hand and by the
rock,
intrinsic are the win-sick 
dreams,
and love is lost where all but
seems.

To find a way into your 
heart,
where hope is lost but near 
depart,
what's truly in your heart and
soul, 
in your life your only
goal.
Now sleeply tight what you may
dream,
life is not but all you 
seem.

Except what all you live and 
tell,
maybe in heaven or maybe in
hell.