White lips, pale face, breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste
Light’s gone, day’s end, [bad word] to pay rent
Long nights, strange men

And they say she’s in the Class Team, stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18, but lately her face seems, slowly sinking, wasting [bad word] like pastries, and they scream the worst things in [bad word] free to us
Cos she's 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 love to another man
It’s too cold outside for angels to fly,
for angels to fly