Theres an angel in my kitchenette
Smokes my brand of cigarettes
So were compatible
And she cant live without her radio
She likes to sleep with it turned on
She says that she never sleeps alone
Theres a halo
In the window
And it makes her look like God,
The virgin Mary,
Or a pale, stained glass saint
Shes growing flowers on her patio
She calls me Moe, and I call her Daddy-O
You know, you know, yo
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