The Story

i would have returned your greeting

if it weren't for the way you were looking at me

this street is not a market

and i am not a commodity

don't you find it sad that we can't even say hello

'cause you're a man

and i'm a woman

and the sun is getting low

there are some places that i can't go

as a woman i can't go there

and as a person i don't care

i don't go for the hey baby what's your name

and i'd like to go alone thank you

just the same

i am up again against

the skin of my guitar

in the window of my life

looking out through the bars

i am sounding out the silence

avoiding all the words

i'm afraid i've said too much

i'm afraid of who has heard me

my father, he told me the story

and it was true

for his time

but now the story's different

maybe i should tell him mine

all the girls line up here

all the boys on the other side

i see your ranks are advancing

i see mine are left behind

i am up again against

the skin of my guitar

in the window of my life

looking out through the bars

i am sounding out the silence

avoiding all the words

i'm afraid i can never say enough

i'm afraid no one has heard me

and despite all the balls that i've been thrown

and forced to drop

on the social totem pole

i'm preciously close to the top

they put you in your place

and they tell you to behave

but no one can be free

until we're all on even grade

and i would have returned your greeting

if it weren't for the way you were looking at me