Flussi di pensieri

l'ultuma sigaretta

Il cappuccio, la pioggia, la musica

White lips, pale face
Breathing in the snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste
Light's gone, days end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men

I pensieri

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
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

Lei non c'è più, questa sigaretta è per te, non saranno le tue Malboro rosse, ma ci accontentiamo come dicevi tu

'Cause we're just under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
And she don't wanna 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

Voglio andarmene

Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried to swim, stay afloat
Dry house, wet clothes
Loose change, bank notes
Weary-eyed, dry throat
Call girl, no phone

I piedi nudi sul balcone

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
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

Il profumo del posacenere con dentro le sigaretta spenta, mie e del mio caro padere

'Cause we're just under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
But she don't wanna go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the motherland
Sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly

Voglio volare, voglio volare anche io

An angel will die
Covered in white
Closed eyes and hopin' for a better life
This time, we'll fade out tonight
Straight down the line

Ma la paste più dura è abbandonare tutti

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately, her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
They scream
The worst things in life come free to us

Per questo ho deciso che non lo farò, o almeno sta sera

And we're all under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
And we don't wanna go outside tonight
And in the pipe, fly to the motherland
Or sell love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly
Fly, fly
For angels to fly, to fly, to fly
Angels to die

Però teniamo conto che nahce gli angeli muoiono, e io sono morto da tempo