Jerusalem on the Jukebox they talk in tongues on Coronation Street. Heaven help the Pharisee whose halo has slipped down to his feet. A thousand satellite comedians have died for your sins. Jerusalem on the jukebox little angels beat your wings. At poolside picnics they chant for Ferraris and furs. Their muscle-tone sharpens but their hold on reality blurs. You can have your cake and eat it and never have to puke up a thing. Jerusalem on the jukebox little angels beat your wings. In the bathroom mirror they try that Joan of Arc look again. Two parts Ingrid Bergman to one part Shirley MacLaine. The wounds of time kill you but the surgeon's knife only stings. Jerusalem on the jukebox little angels beat your wings. In video-suburbia the blue light flickers and flames. Ecstasy and holy blackmail are the favorite games. And God has the sharpest suit and the cleanest chin. Jerusalem on the jukebox little angels beat your wings. The bride checks her hair and her make-upand here comes the groom. What one-eyed monster comes slouching into your front room. Rudolph Valentino or the curse of the two-legged things. Jerusalem on the jukebox little angels beat your wings.