In and out of the front door
Ran twelve back-door angels
Their hair was a golden-brown
They didn't see me wink my eye
'Tis said they put we men to sleep
With just a whisper
And touch the heads of dying dogs
And make them linger
They carry their candles high
And they light the dark hours
And sweep all the country clean
With pressed and scented wild-flowers

They grow all their roses red
And paint our skies blue
Drop one penny in every second bowl
Make half the beggars lose
Why do the faithful have such a will
To believe in something?
And call it the name they choose
Having chosen nothing

Think I'll sit down and invent some fool
Some Grand Court Jester
And next time the die is cast
He'll throw a six or two
In and out of the back-door ran
One front-door angel
Her hair was a golden-brown
She smiled and I think she winked her eye