| On these streets of stone
|
| You might see her walking
|
| All the time alone
|
| She just got tired of talking
|
| As she passes by, you might just get lucky
|
| If you catch her eye
|
| You might see a smile
|
| In a world gone quite mad
|
| She is quietly laughing
|
| For all the good times she’s had
|
| Most of us don’t get near
|
| She has danced with them all
|
| The short and the tall
|
| The rich — and the famous ones
|
| The poor — and the nameless ones
|
| On these streets of stone
|
| You might hear her singing
|
| All the time alone
|
| It’s just her way of bringing
|
| Her past to the fore
|
| She remembers it all
|
| When they shouted «Encore»
|
| Then the curtain did fall
|
| She has sung for them all
|
| In theaters and halls
|
| The rich — and the famous ones
|
| The poor — and the blameless ones
|
| On these streets of stone
|
| You might see her walking
|
| All the time alone
|
| She’s just got tired — of talking |