Her skin screams against her eye Pavement makes her bones say why Tracks on arms, world looks cruel Maybe today she'll beat them all Sky turns grey, the cold gets much worse Bed for the night? Or heroin's curse? Pain in the gut, stomach churns with gear, clutching her dosh, she knows the pusher is near Hand goes out to the dealer money for heroin's paid and in her thoughts she's still thinking "Now that I have this smack I'll be saved...." So does she seek a refuge from the cold Or chase the needle’s liquid gold? Her skin resists against the bitter cold But she's never been so sure Snow becomes the softest blanket cotton wool protects her head feeling warm, safe, and sleepy on her final, cold, hard bed
