The Ballad of The Architect Angel Lyrics  by Bruce Springsteen
The architect angel held &lt;? &gt; 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 aways to the attics and all across the plains
Broke electric static of religious strain, And though he was
never an addict, he wore scars on his veins. Like a young girl
holds her first pimp, he held his Bible in. From desert bars and
church bazaars, the hunger slowly came With vulgar faces from
vulgar places lookin' for a game. Well, ivory gun handles and
chamber grease And souped-up hydroplanes. The bullets burn from
tv silver, bearin' great cowboys' names. Now with 14 inches of
gun barrel, smokin' from the lid, Spurs on straight black
bootheels, he said &quot;they call me the brooklyn kid.&quot;
And in his lonely zenith nightmares, well that's just what they
did. Oh, how he played out his scenes, loaded on &lt;? &gt;
dreams. Well, his holster slung