There´s a skinny dark haired girl works in a bar just out of town

She´s got those cork-screw ringlets, some dirty shade of brown

She was telling me the other night ´bout what she thought was a stroke of luck

How she got a ride out of Rumania in a rusty pick-up truck.

 

The journey took them eleven days to get from there to here

They didn´t have much money so they lived on chips and beer

The cab had no heater and the gearbox was almost shot

She passed the time by imagining what it feels like to be hot.

 

Everything she owned was in a suitcase on her knees

She hugged the cardboard to her and prayed she wouldn't freeze

By and by they came out of the mountains to the border

When she changed the prayer to one that her papers were in order.

 

The music on their radio changed as they drove west

As the air grew warm she felt as if a weight rose from her chest

Each border and each customs post started to look the same

And she began to think that she should choose a brand new name.

 

She told me she was born in Greece or Albania or some such

But now I know it never really mattered very much

My guess was Bulgaria, so I thought of her as Sofia

Until the night she stabbed her boss and set the bar on fire.

 

She came to me late that night, before I knew what she had done

Said she was leaving if she could get a ride, and did I want to come

She stole my camera in the moment that I looked away

And left my heart in tatters as I waved her on her way

She still left my heart in tatters as I waved her on her way.