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A pretty streetwalker
On the corner over there,
She has a clientele
That fills her purse.
When her work is finished,
It’s time to go off
To fulfill a dream and look for romance
At a neighborhood dance.
Her man is a performer,
A funny little guy,
An accordionist
Who can play The Java [a dance]
She listens to The Java
But she doesn’t dance
She doesn’t even look at the dance floor
And her loving eyes
Follow the vigorous playing,
And the long lean fingers of the player
Get under her skin
inside and out.
She wants to sing,
It’s physical.
All of her being is tense,
Her breathing suspended,
The music has wrung her out
The streetwalker is sad,
On the corner over there,
Her accordionist
Has gone to the army.
When he returns from war,
They will have a brothel
She will be the cashier
He will be the boss.
Life will be wonderful,
They’ll live the good life
And every evening
He’ll play The Java for her
She listens to The Java;
She hums it softly.
She imagines her accordionist
and her loving eyes
Follow the vigorous playing
And the long lean fingers of the player
Get under her skin
inside and out
She wants to weep
It’s physical
All of her being is tense
Her breath suspended
The music has wrung her out
The streetwalker is alone.
On the corner over there,
The other girls are sulking.
Men don’t want her
And too bad if she croaks.
Her man will never come back.
Goodbye to beautiful dreams.
Her life is done for.
On legs full of sadness
She enters a cheap dive
Where another performer
plays all night
She listens to The Java
… she hears The Java
… she closed her eyes
… and the lean vigorous fingers
Get under her skin
inside and out.
She wants to scream,
It’s physical.
And then to forget,
She begins to dance, to turn
to the beat of the music
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