White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, aspro, acida 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 Amore to another man
It's too cold outside
For angeli to fly
Angels to fly

Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried...