They looked over my shoulder,
and stumbled upon my feet.
They had customed a place here over,
that had become my seat.

Sat I could hear them cry,
sat I could hear them weep.
I was sitting, but angles were flying,
I had stirred them from peaceful sleep.

Had I ruffled their blessed feathers,
had I risen them from their feet,
I had made their bodies restless,
they could not rest on my seat.

Heavens sounds rode on the wings of my storm
and laid their plucked feathers down,
still fresh and warm.

The angles now looked tattered and torn,
but they would not rest until dawn.