Still living without them

Blinded through the eyes,
where sight lies.
Distinguishing feeling; sometimes soft or hard,
I still know the way through my yard.

Hearing outside all the sounds
this sense just has no bounds.
My sense of smell is so good,
that I can smell a bandit in my hood.

Without them, I barely have to try,
but sometimes you'll hear a cry.
They are dead, my eyes
but it doesn't mean with them my senses dies.