Mott The Hoople

(ian hunter)
Oh angeline, I love you, your mouth is like a sting
And when I close my eyes each night, I often hear you sing
Imaginations hidden book, you wrote it on the wing
And when I vowed to comfort you, well you swallowed everything
Angeline, oh my angeline
My sweet angeline - you have rendered me unseen
I would cry a million smiles for my indian city queen
Well your body it is broken in so many different ways
And when I stoop to find your head, well it disappeared in haze.
Your blood flows like the finest juice - the kiss of burgundy
And where it comes from no one knows, but where its going I cant see
Angeline, oh my angeline