There's an alleyway in Prague,
hiding neath the nights fog,
where a girl stands on red light display.
And when cold rain starts to fall,
she still answers every call;
till the dawn hours that's where she will stay.
Her life is just that way.

She wakes up every day,
tries to scrub the pain away;
forget about the way last night went.
She'll paint some rogue on busted lips,
a short skirt on her starved hips;
with her son she wished her time was spent.
Just a couple more men to pay rent.

She's got a pickpocket friend
who work the Old Town, east end,
and likes to give her a slice of his steals.
The other girls, with whom she works,
defend her from the vicious jerks;
make sure her and her boy get hot meals.
They teach her how to heal.

Last week her **** gave her a knife
after a trick threatened her life
and said "Next time, say you cut off his *****."
Then he laughed like it was funny
and told her to go make money,
leaning up against his car to look slick;
teasing his hair with a pick.

Tomorrow and tomorrow
she swears she'll end the sorrow,
but each night she's in that street corner cell.
She weeps "It's not the life I choose.",
while she looks at each new bruise
in the mirror, watching purple skin swell.
Her life surpasses hell.

The endless months and years pass
until she finally saves the cash
to run away with her pickpocket friend.
They grab her son and catch a bus,
leaving Wenceslas in the dust;
it doesn't matter where their road ends.
Her red light wounds can now mend.