Johann Wolfgang Goethe

"Cuán insensato es el hombre que deja transcurrir el tiempo estérilmente."

Sunday, March 25, 2012

White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour tasteLight'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 day dream
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
Go mad for a couple grams
And she don't want to go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
Or sells love to another manIt's too cold outside
For angels to flyAngels to fly
Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried to swim, stay afloat
Dry house, wet clothes
Loose change, bank notes 
Weary-eyed, dry throat
Call girl, no phone....