[Verse 1] E A She clocks in under broken neon, C#m B Same corner, different skyline haze. E A Taxi lights like a cheap old halo, C#m B She’s the saint of everyone who pays. E A There’s a landlord waiting by the 1st, C#m B There’s a bar tab running down the block. E A There’s a little room with a busted curtain, C#m B And a drawer she never really wants to lock. [Pre-Chorus] F#m C#m She’s got lipstick on a crumpled receipt, A B A cigarette choir singing in the street. F#m C#m Faces change but the terms stay the same, A B She’s just trying to break even on her own name. [Chorus] E A This is a prostitute’s salary, C#m B Paid by the hour, counted in scars. E A Cash in a coffee can under the mattress, C#m B Rain on a windshield, prayers in cars. E A She’s not your parable or your tragedy, C#m B She’s a ledger written in cheap red wine. G#m C#m Every night she gambles with the city, A B E Trying to come out one breath ahead of the line. [Verse 2] E A There’s a choir of kids on the subway platform, C#m B Bowing tin violins for loose change. E A Their songs drift up past the billboards, C#m B Past the windows where she rearranged. E A She walks past galleries with empty white walls, C#m B Thinking, “I’ve seen better art in cheap motels.” E A Some curator sells a photograph of her street, C#m B Titles it “The Night That Never Tells.” [Pre-Chorus] F#m C#m She’s got mascara streaked in 3 a.m. rain, A B Church steps littered with somebody else’s shame. F#m C#m But when she laughs it’s a brass band break, A B Every missed beat is a choice she makes. [Chorus] E A This is a prostitute’s salary, C#m B Paid in small bills, cab rides, and lies. E A A handshake deal with the city’s heartbeat, C#m B Nothing romantic in the lowered eyes. E A She counts her nights like rosary beads, C#m B Each one worn smooth by the same old needs. G#m C#m You call it sin, she calls it rent, A B E Both of you pray to the same percent. [Bridge – boozy jazz swing, organ + piano come up, strings swell slowly] C#m G#m Pour another trumpet into the mix, A E Let the drummer stumble, let the cymbals hiss. C#m G#m She’s a walking chorus in a thrift store coat, A B Every step a half-forgotten note. C#m G#m There’s a saxophone crying from a basement bar, A E Someone sings her name like a burned-out star. C#m G#m All the good intentions in the world she’s seen, A B Never once paid for heat or gasoline. (strings rise; choir hums “ahhhh” behind the last lines) [Final Chorus – full band, strings, choir] E A This is a prostitute’s salary, C#m B City in her pocket, hunger in her bones. E A Broken meter running on a one-way street, C#m B Charging by the minute just to get back home. E A She’s not your punchline, not your warning sign, C#m B She’s a candle burning at the county line. G#m C#m You lay your head on a saint of the alley, A B Tip a little extra for the weight you carry. E A And when the dawn comes up like a busted hymn, C#m B She wipes off her face, lets the sunlight in. E A Counts what’s left like a prayer on a tally, C#m B Another night bought on a prostitute’s salary. [Outro – quiet, just piano, organ, and a small kids’ string line] E A In any city, on any block, C#m B There’s a ghost in heels and a broken lock. E A If you listen close to the traffic’s song, C#m B E You might hear her humming, just holding on.
