DESCRIPTION:
Epitaph: Angel, the last song on White Faced Lady, is the coronation of the album as a masterpiece. Better ending to it would not be possible. It starts with singing only, and goes building over the same theme, introducing a beautiful female chorale, acoustic guitar, bass, drumming, electric guitar, piano and orchestral arrangements, peaking three times in a superb way. Pay attention to the superb classical guitar and bass interplay and feel all the beauty of the vocal melody (one of the best vocal melodies ever) and lush orchestral arrangements. (progarchives.com)

Lyrics:
With your laugh like rain that carried you away
And all of those words that you just couldn't say
And the way that you fell at the end of each day
What a shame that your bed was so empty

With your friends and your foes that stood at your hand
And your village physician that drew dreams in the sand
And the 'Prince of Pleasure' who was more than a man
What a shame that not one remembers you

With your hands and birds and your fears like glass
And the midnight race where you always came last
And the painting you stole because you said it had class
What a shame it was all without value

With your style of life: a hundred years old
And your crimson nightdress we agreed was so bold
And the heat of your kiss that alas felt so cold
What a shame your innocence was so real

With your fears of yourself that you could not disarm
Our collection of children that meant you no harm
And the look on your face at that first false alarm
What a shame you were taken for granted

With your hand at the helm on your journey to Nice
Where the cripples and criminals were begging release
And the priest that ran naked through those paper-white streets
What a shame that you were so honest

With your family crest that you wore like a scar
And your thirst for perfection that you took much too far
And your cross of ice -- it was all so bizarre
What a shame it was all so tragic

With your unfinished books of which you were proud
That you read at the parties in a voice not quite loud
Funny how the words all got lost in the crowd
What a shame that you spoke without thinking

With your hands slow as Time and your Christmas Day air
And the way that you cried and the way that we stared
Oh, the life that you lived, it just wasn't fair
What a shame that no-one could get near you

With your promise of love that hung in your eyes
And the shape of your body that you could not disguise
Lost to us now all the charm of your lies
What a shame that you were so perfect

With your father of God that we tried to believe
And your kiss from Jesus that you gave to a thief
We remember your tears, how you begged for release
What a shame that you took it so badly

With your Monroe eyes and your Madonna smile
Your love for Arthur Miller that lasted but a while
If only we had seen through your Biblical style
What a shame that we loved you without question

With your pillow of ice in your quarantine bed
And the way that we laughed at all that you said
And the ceiling of mirrors so quiet overhead
What a shame that you were so famous

With your foot in the door on that very last day
Leaving us like blindmen with nothing left to say
Oh, what did you do when we all turned away?
What a shame that crowds have no faces...