Ed Sheeran —
The A Team

Accurate lyrics

• 
• 
• 
• 
  Auto

© Compiler: Anton Gavzov // chief of the project (https://Muzland.info)
± BPM (tempo): ♩ = 85 beats per minute

Lyrics and Music by Ed Sheeran

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,

Chorus:
     ’Cause we’re just under the upperhand,
     And 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 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,

Chorus:
     ’Cause we’re just under the upperhand,
     And 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 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.

Chorus:
     And we’re all under the upperhand,
     Go mad for a couple 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,
     To fly,
     For angels to fly, to fly, to fly,
     Angels to die.