Scissors Peter Hammill

A figure by the traffic lights
Face washed out in the rain
She's here once more to make her nightly
Stand for love and pain

Her story written on her face
Reading between the lines;
Still private in this public place
She's carefully designed
Her open secret

Reliant on their charity
To feed and clothe her kids
She holds a card out to the drivers
Behind it safely hidden
Her little sceret
For their eyes alone

And she only needs a moment of weakness
Window wound down just a crack
And she'll explode with all that pent-up stuff inside her
And attack
With her scissors
Secret scissors
Sharpened scissors