An angel sleeps in your mirror It wants to wake up but you won't let it sing You're too busy now narrating the end of the world And you tell me I am a jerk for wearing a smile Oh leave me here with my fantasy I still believe in the nights of old Paris Where angels might win You came to me covered in barnacles I tried to get in but the tide was out And now it seems you blame my ponderous claim That love is a game which you will never command Leave me here in my Leningrad It's better than your fishcake heart, I've started to hate Your storm in a dress An angel sleeps in your mirror It wants to elope your dawn of steel But you won't give up your football pitch of pain And the irony won't help, nor your fling with Class A's Leave me here in my Innisfree I need to halt your darkened wheels, they lost their appeal When you bought the TV An angel lies in your mirror It wants to wake up but your hide's too thick But now you say the angel is dead And its all in your head, as you summon the end Leave me here with my poetry I will find the bridge to someone else's dream I will try and make them believe