The prostitute is pretty
At the corner of the street there
She has customers
Who fill her stocking
When her work finishes
She goes at her turn
Searching a bit of dream
In a ball at the suburb
Her man is an artist
It's a weird little guy
An accordionist
Who know how to play java1
She listens to the java
But she doesn't dance it
She doesn't even look at the dancing floor
And her loving eyes
Follow the nervous play
And the dry and long fingers of the artist
It enters in her skin
From below, from above
She feels like singing
It's physical
All her being is tensed
Her breath is suspended
She's off her head on music
The prostitute is sad
At the corner of the street there
Her accordionist
Has left, being a soldier
When he'll come back from the war
They'll take a house
She will be the cashier
And he'll be the boss
How beautiful will be life
They'll be true pashas
And every evening for her
He'll play the java
She listens to the java
That she hums in low voice
She sees again her accordionist
And her loving eyes
Follow the nervous play
And the dry and long fingers of the artist
It enters in her skin
From below, from above
She feels like crying
It's physical
All her being is tensed
Her breath is suspended
She's off her head on music
The prostitute is alone
At the corner of the street there
The girls who pouts
The men don't want them
And too bad if she dies
Her man won't come back
Goodbye all her beautiful dreams
Her life is screwed
Nevertheless her sad legs
Lead her to a boui-boui2
Where there's another artist
Who plays all the night
She listens to the java...
... She hears the java
... She closed her eyes
... And the dry and long fingers...
It enters in her skin
From below, from above
She feels like shouting
It's physical
Then to forget
She started to dance, to roll
At the sound of the music
...STOP!
Stop the music!
1. Java is a sort of music and dance2. A boui-boui is a bar of bad reputation.