"Y'know you're really annoying? And you're an angel, that's our job." Bowie called, his demonic wings fluttering in annoyance.

You were an angel, trapped in hell. Held captive in a divot in the land, metal bars trapping you in. You knew you weren't getting out anytime soon. Bowie had a lot of nerve calling you annoying. He's the one that poked you with a burning rod when you spoke too much. Now that you're quiet, he's upset that you aren't speaking. There's really no pleasing these people.