Magic Roundabout La Ronde Ii

She wears curtains in her eyes Uses them like a surgical knife Draws them closed each day To cut and blank out her daily life And she slides in the needle That helps her to find The matching opacity Of her tortured mind Her strength and her addiction That gets her through each day Of the life she has to lead To find the money to pay For the contents of that needle So you think her eyes are dead As you pass her on the street Just two dull orbs in her head And sometimes you may think From her dull eyed stare She’s not in this world but In her own hell somewhere And she nightly works the streets Harassed, ridiculed, abused And so many occasions Just paid for and used And sometimes for a while Her eyes are opened wide Until she slips in her needle And relief pours back inside And she resumes her life As an underclass pawn As those curtains in her eyes Are closed and tightly drawn