Mary of the Angels - Willard Grant Conspiracy

Bright lights

Little city

It’s a dusty old town

The lights all look pretty

When your sky ward bound

I’m sitting in the window seat

Wondering when I’ll see clouds

Mary of the Angels, Mary of the angels

Mary of the Angels, calls to me

With a blessing for a mouth

And big blue eyes

A generous laugh

Always takes me by surprise

I hold in my memory

Every goodbye kiss

Every time that I leave

I look forward to coming home

I know that sounds small

But sometimes small things matter most

There’s a hole inside of me

That only you seem to fill