been this way since 18, but lately: her face seems, slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries. they scream: the worst things in life comes free to us. and we’re ooh, under the upper hand, go mad for a couple grams. don’t wanna go outside tonight. in a pipe, fly to the motherland. sell love to another man. it’s too cold outside for angels to fly. an angel will die, covered in white.
