And we just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
We just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
There’s a story told in whispers about a little plan,
All through time there’ve been the wise ones found throughout the land
A group of angels spread around in secret near and far
Not just one, not two or three, thirty-six there are.
And we never know who they are, and they’re not who we’d expect
Not the leaders, not the loud ones, the famous or elect.
Maybe they’re a little odd, the ones with eyes we won’t meet:
The sweet woman no one’s got time for, the old man up the street.
And we just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
We just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
Sometimes they are children, often they are poor.
They work in humble silence, no spotlights, no rewards.
And as we hurry through our lives, so busy in our days
How many angels do we pass along the way?
And if you’re wondering why that number, it’s all a little math trick.
Eighteen is the number of life, times two that’s thirty-six.
The thinking was we needed help, and that’s what these folks do.
But they don’t even know themselves; it’s a secret to them too.
And we just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
We just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
And by the time we’ve understood what might be going on
We turn around in quiet awe, but they’re already gone…
And we just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
We just never know, we just never know, who the angels are.
© Joanie Calem 2001
