The angel of our history
With his face towards the past.
Sees an endless catastrophe:
New ruins built on the last.
The angel wants to spread his wings
To make whole what has been smashed,
Awake the countless dead victims
Set all the living ghouls at rest.
Chorus: it's the storm of so-called progress
Feeding the flames of decay.
It's the storm of so-called progress
In the end we all shall pay.
But a fierce wind is blowing
From what once was paradise.
The angel cannot close his wings
Nor distract his staring eyes.
This raging storm propelling him
Into the future that remains.
His back turned to this bleak prospect
Before him debris and flames.
Repeat chorus
