White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour 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 eighteen
But lately
Her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
'Cause we're just under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
And she don't want to go outside tonight
And she don't want to go outside
Tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
And sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly.
Ripped gloves, rain coat
Tried to swim, stay afloat
Dry house, wet clothes
Loose change, bank notes
Wery-eye, dry trhoat
Call girl, no phone.
And they say "She's in the Class A Team"
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately
Her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
We are all in the upper hand
Going mad for a couple grams
We don't want to go outside
Tonight
In a pipe we fly to the Motherland
Or sell love to another man
Is too cold outside
For angels to fly
An angel will die
Covered in white
Closed eyed
And hopping for a better life
This time
We'll fade out tonight
Straight down the line
And they say "She's in the Class A Team"
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately
Her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
