| 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 18
|
| 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 of grams
|
| And she don’t want to go outside tonight
|
| And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
|
| Or sells love to another man
|
| It’s too cold outside
|
| For angels to fly
|
| Angels to fly
|
| Ripped gloves, raincoat
|
| Tried to swim, stay afloat
|
| Dry house, wet clothes
|
| Loose change, bank notes
|
| Weary-eyed, dry throat
|
| Cool girl, no phone
|
| 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
|
| Cause we’re just under the upper hand
|
| 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 love to another man
|
| It’s too cold outside
|
| For angels to fly
|
| For angels to fly
|
| Ooh, ooh
|
| Ooh, ooh
|
| 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
|
| Cause we’re just under the upper hand
|
| And go mad for a couple of grams
|
| But she don’t want to go outside tonight
|
| And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland
|
| Or sells love to another man
|
| It’s too cold outside
|
| For angels to fly
|
| For angels to fly
|
| To fly
|
| For angels to die |