I live in the corner of old Montmartre
My father comes home sozzled every night
And to feed the four of us
My poor mother works in the wash-house
When I'm sick, I lean out the window
I watch outsiders pass by
When the sun comes out
Things appear that scare me a little

On my street are people strolling about
I can hear them whisper, and in the night
When I fall asleep, lulled by an old tune
I'm suddenly woken by screams
Whistles and shuffling steps
Going to and fro
Followed by the silence that makes my whole heart cold

On my street are shadows strolling about
And I shiver, and I'm cold, and I'm scared

My father once told me, "Daughter
You're not gonna stay here forever
You're good for nothing - it runs in the family
You should think about earning money
Men think you are rather pretty
You just have to leave at night
Some women earn a living
By walking the sidewalk"