“And they sayShe's in the class A TeamStuck in her daydreamBeen that way since eighteen, but lately,Her face seemsSlowly sinking, wastingCrumbling like pastriesAnd they screamThe worst things in life come free to usCos we're just under the upperhandGo mad for a couple gramsAnd she don't want to go outside tonightAnd in a pipe she flies to the MotherlandOr sells love to another manIt's too cold outsideFor angels to flyAngels to fly”