My friend Steve was a real good guy 'til his woman passed away
Took every dime she left behind and drank it down the drain
Had a Cadillac car outside the bar he slept in every day
We found him there on Christmas Eve with a bullet
In his brain
But the angels didn't cry
From their perches up on high
They were too busy planning the birthday for Jesus Christ
Well the paper said he died from a traumatic self-inflicted wound
But I know he died from a broken heart from a love he lost too soon
Well Christmas came anyway, beneath the cold morning moon
As the radio played to a still parade
But the angels didn't cry
From their perches up on high
They were too busy toasting Jesus Christ
Well they buried Steve in a
Corduroy jacket and a pair of new blue jeans
The saddest girl in the whole graveyard out on 32nd street
They had the wake on New Years Day beneath the crippled jackpine tree
With a Protestant preacher who talked too much and smelled like
Cheap whiskey
But the angels didn't cry
From their perches up on high
It was New Years day, after all
Jesus Christ
So we went through ol' Steve's house in the January wind
His brother-in-law thank he found a note at the end of the bed
And to this day I can't get them words out of my head
On a crumpled piece of loose leaf
This is what I read
"If Lydia could see me now
She'd roll over in her grave
Oh I can't take much more
I miss her smile and face
And if you see Carter, tell him I'm sorry
I never fixed his breaks"