She wore heavily applied make up every day
and she sold herself at the highest price
from 8 to 10 on a corner, she was young and determined.
She was a rose and a thorn and her name: I don't know,
I never found out, I never asked her,
I never spent time with her nor what she offered,
I was a snot-nosed brat and I only watched her
go from well to well.
And she was a little bird with white wings
that flew from balcony to balcony,
that flew from square to square,
she was a seller of love,
offering up to the highest bidder her tune.
Five winters passed and she was still there
at her usual time, on the same corner, she was young and determined.
And her skin was still as rosy
and her thorn was just as sharp and she smiled as she passed by
the onlookers beneath that streetlight.
Night after night, she was arrested twenty times
and she sang her song behind bars.
And she was a little bird with white wings
that flew from balcony to balcony,
that flew from square to square,
she was a seller of love,
offering up to the highest bidder her tune.
Her skin grew wrinkled and the makeup wasn't enough
to cover the mark left behind by her sixth winter,
she ran out of color even ran out of breath
and from 8 to 10 only that streetlamp remained
and that thorn, that thorn, I don't know -
I don't know where she went nor her name: I don't know,
and she smiled....
And she was a little bird with white wings
that flew from balcony to balcony,
that flew from square to square,
she was a seller of love,
offering up to the highest bidder her tune.
And she was a little bird with white wings
that flew from balcony to balcony,
that flew from square to square,
she was a seller of love,
offering up to the highest bidder her tune.