The papers said she was a whore
But she was really a battered wife,
Sent out to work the streets to
Support her pimp's style of life.
You could see her on her pitch,
Same place every night,
Skimpily dressed and standing
Under that same street light.
Not dressed for the weather
As she stood shivering there,
Not dressed for the weather
Dressed to show her wares.
When they found her body
Just dumped on wasteland
They said she'd been a whore,
Dismissed her out of hand.
And the pimp who'd put her there
Suffered for a little while
Until he found another woman
To finance his life style.
Did anybody really care
About that pitiful sight
Of that shivering girl standing
Under her street light.
And the one who did the deed,
One of those predatory men,
Is he still out there and free,
Is it just a question of when?
Her murder made the papers
Just a few lines in the press,
The front pages carried a preview,
Instead, of a royal wedding dress.
Two different worlds
Existing side by side
Two different worlds
That occasionally collide.
A world of wealth and privilege
Of luxury, comfort and ease
And those in that world
Seem to do just as they please.
And the world of the masses
Where the predators thrive
Where some times it's a struggle
Just to manage to stay alive.
But, The Queens still in her palace,
The rich still lie and cheat,
And the desperate sex worker
Still looks for business on the street.
