Emerging from the twisted gates of hell,
An angel carries a small, limp figure,
A child lost in the fire,
Wreathed in flame, ash, and smoke,
The angel has no robe,
But black pants and a black jacket,
His halo, a yellow hard hat,
Tears stream down that angelic face,
He says it's from the smoke,
But inside he's dying,
He couldn't understand,
Why such a young life should be taken,
He's seen death before,
Destruction of the worst kinds,
But a child had died in his arms,
And, for the first time,
He had cried on the job.
Some people think angels know everything,
They don't,
This angel didn't know why it happened on his shift,
He did what he was told to do,
Followed orders right down to the last letter,
He knows it wasn't his fault,
He can't take the blame,
But he feels guilty for the loss of such a young life,
His wings may be singed,
His halo, just a little tarnished,
But in the eyes of our Lord,
And in the eyes of the ones he protects,
He's an angel just the same..