Saint monday

Angels regarding discarded 'pinions
Can't be re bought for trinkets and rings
Ageless eyes glance at an ancient dominion
Trapped in silent and gaugeless old strings

Who's are these trees and why is this mountain?
Fenced from broken old mill into town
Who's is this warehouse forlorn and enormous?
All the machinery's all broken down

Sandpaper, rust, oil in the lines
Waiting to fire us back to the good times
Playing out tunes on a broken guitar
Trying to bring down the fire from the stars