Angels, Punks and Raging Queens

We played this dive in the village
 somewhere on the edge,
 during the breaks I'd hang outside
 have a smoke, sitting on a ledge.
 I watched the parade as it passed by
 the junkies and hot-to-trot teens,
 and it felt so right to be sharing the night
 with angels, punks and raging queens
 We played that gig for a long time
 got to know some folks,
 have them some change or took their cards
 heard their schemes listened to their jokes.
 Sometimes they'd stop and hear my song on route to their fabulous scenes,
 and I still get laughs from old photographs
 with angels, punks and raging queens.
 Well I loved that time in the village
 though I still don't know what it means,
 matrons and whores, intillectual bores,
 angels, punks and raging queens.
 We passed that place like a phantom
 and everything has changed,
 that lousy dive is a sleek boutique
 prorities rearranged.
 I long for the mix of the bad old days
 the ball gowns and torn up jeans.
 And I sing this song,
 for the souls who have gone,
 sweet angels, punks and raging queens. Ooh-ooh...