a.k.a. THE BALLAD OF THE ARCHITECT ANGEL
a.k.a. BALLAD OF THE ARCHITECT ANGEL
Live version
Well the architect angel held the straight Juda ranch
Just a dirty mile down on the borderline
Where he mastered blastin' and hustled young cattle for slaughter
And dated Juda's daughter
From the cellar ways to the attics and all across the plains
Broke electric static, ohh of a religious strain
And though he was not an addict, he wore scars upon his veins
Like a young girl holds her first pimp, he held his Bible limp
From desert bars and church bazaars, the hungry slowly came
With vulgar faces from vulgar places lookin' for a game
With ivory gun handles and chamber grease
And souped-up hydroplanes
With bullets burned from TV silver, bearin' great cowboys' names
14 inches of gun barrel, and he was smokin' from the lid,
Spurs on straight black bootheels, he said "Uptown, they call me the Brooklyn Kid"
And in their lonely Zenith nightmares, well that's just what they did
Well, with a holster slung low like a hot kid-sister
Tied tight to his leg like he was gonna do
He was stompin' a step he called the Brooklyn Twister.
With six-guns pumpin' he was comin' through
And his tongue hung low like sawdust scrapin' across the plains
He crawled up outside the Juda Ranch
And started callin' the angel names
And now the architect angel stood, in one hand a staff, and in the other a gun
He held the staff high in the wind, the gun was like a piece in the sun
He started howlin' like a monsoon wind, drew fast, and the job was done
That night the moon stretched tight light down on the plains
As real cowboys sat around real campfire flames
And the county wolf called as if to explain to his son
The way the West was won
The way the West was won
A track dating from 1973. These lyrics refer to the live version performed on 31 January 1973 at Max's
Kansas City, New York. A studio version also exists.
