I am a prostitute.

I work the streets at night,
and at day I live on a little white sachet.
Everyone treats me as if it's not right,
But who are they, they use me, so is that wrong?
I have to earn what I use,
or else it is my life I will fear to lose.

My master will be angry if I fail, but who is he? only the key bearer of my jail.
My arms are blue and frail, no more veins, no money to get out on bail.
What has happened to me?
Where is my respect, where is my soul?
I have nothing left, except a needle and a goal.
Another man, another bag, another beating, another hand, another high, another low, these are no longer my hands, I have no where to go.

No on to help me, I feel so low, but not for long,
my next payment tonight and then Thru my blood it shall flow, making me strong again, letting me fly,
Above the clouds no more problems, so high.
Now I can just lie back ad wait to die, love is not real, I don't know I have no emotions, so how can I feel?

Someday I will b free,
I will have a life, a love, a child, and everyone will see,
I am worth loving, I'll have respect, and no more shall I feel like a taker of so much neglect.