No more does the morning sun kiss my flawless skin,
I’ll be fifty five this fall;
I’ve lost my beauty – nor have I kith or kin
Even the men come no more on night time call.
For I’m an prostitute –lonely and old;
In my springtime desirable –and knew the moves in great detail
And though to many clients I my story told
They weren’t interested in a whore’s tale.
I don’t blame them –after all they came for fun
And who is interested in a foolish orphan girl!
Who at fourteen did from her house run
And the pimps were delighted to trap the valuable pearl.
I was beautiful then – young and voluptuous,
Alas – I’ll be fifty five this fall
Now my whole life seems to have been a farce
Even the men come no more on night time call.
