White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, acide, sure taste
Light's gone, day's end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men
And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
Cos we're just under the upperhand
And go mad for a couple of grams
And she don't want to go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
Or sells l’amour to another man
It's too cold outside
For anges to fly
Angels to fly
Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried...
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