Prologue 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 I can hear that song playing from the radio in my room, like an endless satire to mock my current situation. I used to sit in this very room, listening to this very song, with an absolutely different reaction. Back then, I had mocked Ed Sheeran for writing a song so ridiculous, a song so insignificant to be told, a song about a drug-addict prostitute. Maybe this is what people call karma. As I might have fallen in love with prostitute - who's also a drug addict.