There’s a corner of a lonesome square Where forlorn hearts can't be repaired And the ladies flow on high heeled hopes With hard promises for sale. In a runaway’s dream passion’s unreal When she’s working the streets.
A spotlight cigarette in her anxious hand Marks lost time wherever she stands. A dime store bag on her weary shoulder Stores the vanquished memories. In her menu of wares one pays even to stare When she’s working the streets.
She can pick apart any crooked line On a lonely man’s cruising mile. "Hey Baby, want some company? Show me how, you want to shout. I can bare my soul with a dollar to start, I can give you treats that are oh so sweet."
So with a painted smile on her broken heart And a floral bed glazed in her reflection She keeps her tearful soul under control It’s just a job, don’t you see. And there’s no need for love’s cruel misery When she’s working the streets
She just needs to have some company When she’s working the streets.