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
|
But she don't wanna 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
|
|
Ripped gloves, raincoat
|
Tried to swim to stay afloat
|
Dry house, wet clothes
|
Loose change, bank notes
|
Weary-eyed, dry throat
|
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
|
'Cause we're just under the upper hand
|
And go mad for a couple grams
|
But she don't wanna 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
|
|
To fly, to fly
|
For angels to fly
|
To fly, to fly
|
For angels to die
|
|
-----------------
|
The A Team
|
| Alex Goot |
