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Angels Don't Cry by Robbie Vandemark | Neume
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Angels Don't Cry
Robbie Vandemark
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Country mix if hip hop and rap. Start out country move into hip-hop and rap A family comes home from a funeral of a soldier dad killed in a war. The wife of the soldier has a son and a daughter. The daughter in the yard crying as the soldier‘s mother console her in the grass on a warm spring day the little boy sits on the steps the porch with his head in his hands, crying His wife gets out of the car and walks past a little boy, and the girl, and in the doorway is a ghost of her dead husband that theyjust buried he thinks to himself angels don’t cry for me because his children are his little angels as he turns to the side as his walks past him with out seeing him he notices an angel and the other room wings spread out With a stern look on his face, and he thinks to himself angels don’t want to take him home don’t cry for him he thinks back about all the things he did of his children and his wife and being a little boy with his mother as he walks towards the angel to take him home to heaven
Lyrics
Sun on the grass, the truck sits quiet, tailgate down
A folded flag on the hood, a hymn drifting out from the town
Spring air smells like cut hay and old coffee on the stove
They step out slow, they step out soft, where the garden used to grow
Mama's on her knees in the yard, she pulls the girl close, tucks her chin
Dirt on the hem of her Sunday dress, kneeling where the laughter's been
Little boy on the porch steps, head buried in his hands, he rocks
He doesn't look up when his mother walks by — the world just stopped the clock
She passes him slow, she passes the girl, she moves like she's walking through fog
In the doorway there's a man in uniform, and he's hollow like a song
He watches them breathe, watches them bend — he's there but no one sees
Warm spring sunlight paints the scene, the wind smells like rosemary
He folds his hands and thinks of home, a kitchen table, scraped up smiles
A scraped knee kissed, a bedtime tale, reading letters, counting miles
He says under his breath, low, like a prayer he can't quite place
"Angels don't cry for me, don't cry for me," he says, looking at their faces
Angels don't cry for me, no, they don't weep when I go
My little ones, they laugh and run — they're the light I know (oh-oh)
Angels don't cry for me, don't let that river flow (don't cry)
They're my reason, they're my hands, let them keep on growing (let them grow)
(yeah) I remember Sunday mornings with mama's coffee and the radio hum (yuh)
Kid on my knee, alphabet blocks, watching the dust in a sunbeam come (ayy)
Name on the mailbox, paint chipped, tire swing with a frayed rope knot
I swore I fought for a future, felt the weight, but didn't see the cost (no)
Boots on the floor at zero dark, letters stamped and folded twice
Promise made in a bunk room, whispered loud into the night (whispered)
I prayed to be the man they could lean on, to give 'em a porch to stand on
Now I'm watching from the doorway, their song keeps marching on (on)
Mama's hands hold the girl like a heartbeat, humming lullabies she knows (she knows)
Boy on the steps with his palms to his face, trying not to let it show
I see my wife walk past, eyes flat, like a map she's learning again
She don't see me in the doorway, she don't feel where I begin and end
Man, I ain't the only ghost around, there's a weight of names on a stone
But every time she breathes for them I know I ain't truly alone
I think about the small things — scraped knees, the fishing line we threw
The promise to be back by supper, the small town bar with its neon blue (uh)
If I could pick one memory, it'd be mama laughing after rain
She'd pull me close, tell me stories, teach me how to bear the pain (bear it)
Now I step through my own hallway, watch them fold into the light
An angel stands with folded wings, looks like judgement at first sight (look)
He don'
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