Xolie Morra and The Strange KindWings Of Gold
Rock HyperLink
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song created                                

Monday, March 22, 2021 8:55:32 PM
song updated                               

Monday, March 22, 2021 8:55:32 PM
stations playing this song              
This Just In
Greatest Clicks
pretty darn good
Fresh
Counting the Seconds
Texas Back Porch
rock yo
Love, Longing and Loss
The Metro Underground
World Class Radio
AURAL STREAMS
Kayak Number One Songs!
Maestros of Pop and Rock
Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 2
SIVLEization
BANG FM - a Desperado Revue station
IndieMusicPeople

 















Tom Petty meets the pretenders



 - 
reached  # 1 on  KIAC Big 50   

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Written by Xolie Morra & Mike Green in 2007

I'm on fire but my heart is cold
cause it hurts to feel again
soaring high to the ground I fall
and it's hard to see the road ahead

with Your wings of gold
your wings of gold
my feet are frozen to the ground

lift me up
teach me how to fly
where the clouds and the stars collide
sweep me off of my feet
arms so tight
kisses sweet
hold me close
shelter me from the cold
with your wings of gold

Speak like soft breeze upon my face
hearing words of angels tongues
almost safe but something holds me here
and you drift into the sky above

On wings of gold
Your wings of gold
My feet are frozen to the ground

Lift me up teach me how to fly
Where the clouds and the star collide
sweep me off of my feet
arms so tight
kisses sweet
hold me close
shelter me from the cold
with your wings of gold

Your wings of gold x
Song Comments

rock yo
http://iacmusic.com/artist.aspx?ID=115727


The Metro Underground
Someone somewhere said Tom Petty -meets- The Pretenders... sort of... but much better vocals than either. But I do get the melodic rock connection. Good stuff!


Kayak Number One Songs!
week 203


Greatest Clicks
Wings of gold and a voice like an angel.


Maestros of Pop and Rock
I can fly!


Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 2
oft in the chilly night (the metagonistic! the epickthalamorous!) during uneasy slumber in their hearings of a small and stonybroke cashdraper's executive, Peter Cloran (discharged), O'Mara, an exprivate secretary of no fixed abode (locally known as Mildew Lisa), who had passed several nights, funnish enough, in a doorway under the blankets of homelessness on the bunk of iceland, pillowed upon the stone of destiny colder than man's knee or woman's breast, and Hosty, (no slouch of a name), an illstarred beachbusker, who, sans rootie and sans scrapie, suspicioning as how he was setting on a twoodstool on the verge of selfabyss, most starved, with melancholia over everything in general, (night birman, you served him with natigal's nano!) had been towhead tossing on his shake- down, devising ways and manners of means, of what he loved to ifidalicence somehow or other in the nation getting a hold of some chap's parabellum in the hope of taking a wing sociable and lighting upon a sidewheel dive somewhere off the Dullkey Downlairy and Bleakrooky tramaline where he could throw true and go and blow the sibicidal napper off himself for two bits to boldywell baltitude in the peace and quitybus of a one sure shot bottle, he after having being trying all he knew with the lady's help of Madam Gristle for upwards of eighteen calanders to get out of Sir Patrick Dun's, through Sir Humphrey Jervis's and into the Saint Kevin's bed in the Adelaide's hosspittles (from these incurable welleslays among those uncarable wellasdays through Sant Iago by his cocklehat, good Lazar, deliver us!) without after having been able to jerrywangle it anysides.


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