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 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 Angels to fly
Ripped gloves, raincoat Tried to swim and 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 upperhand And go mad for a couple of grams But 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
An angel will die Covered in white Closed eye And hoping 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 They scream The worst things in life come free to us
And we're all under the upperhand Go mad for a couple of grams And we don't want to go outside tonight And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland Or sell love to another man It's too cold outside
For angels to fly Angels to fly To fly, fly Angels to fly, to fly, to fly Angels to die
Compositor: Edward Christopher Sheeran (Ed Sheeran) ECAD: Obra #5356416 Fonograma #19269715