She sits.
Wondering how to reach the sky.
A fix of magic tricks.
To make her fly.
She'll cry for it.
Lie for it.
Maybe even die for it.

She sighs for it.
You can see it in her saucer eyes.
She's flying at last.
What happened yesterday's only the past.

Sky scraping.
Risk taking.
Meat hooks.
***** looks.

Bouncing on pavements with forbidden ones.
Daughters together and unholy sons.
Sniffing a thin line.
A hit, at a wild time.
It caught her badly.
Cut to ribbons.

Bites with sickness.
Bleeding out silently.
Mellow sounds of Stevie Nicks.
Beat through her brain, like kettle drums.
Living life supporting bums.
The gorgeous dolly.
Off her trolley.
Biscuit crumbs.
Missing mums.

Snatching supreme highs.
At the back of her chemical eyes.
Defiantly deviant.

For the life she once had retreated inside.
Her very soul defeated.
By the touch of the dealer man.
She beaten inside and out.

Uppers and downers.
Picks up out of townies.
And she's a singer.
Her song is sung for punters.

A taster.
A sample of what they're gonna get.
She looks at her discarded needles.
Set of works that work.
Another ugly fella.
Just another ****.

The working girl she goes berserk.
Ask her, she'll tell ya.
She's just gotta work.

Jupiter's rising.
Ecstatic moon.
Needs another hit now, it's hellish too soon
Slaps on her heels.
Finds appalling man, somehow appealing.

She plays for the pimple who stranded her there.
She no longer feels.

Life ebbing out of her.
Sold her soul for rock 'n' roll.
Questions the beautiful place that she lingers in.
Not beautiful.
Abysmal.
Dismal.
No choice.
Her song always the same, has little choice.

The singer wants her song to stop, but just can't find her voice.
Drugs sicken her.
Money all spent.
Stand up.
Be counted.
****** repent.
You bet ya, she can't.
Stuck in a hole, with a drug ridden soul.
Hunting for dragons, in the back of their wagons.
A ***** for old rope, a little more dope.
(c) Livvi