The Decemberists - The Perfect Crime No.2 | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• The Decemberists
• The Perfect Crime No.2

Sing, muse, of the passion of the pistol
Sing, muse, of the warning by the whistle
On a night so dark in the waning
A dawn obscured by slate sky raining

Five and twenty burglars by the reservoir
A teenage lookout on the signal tower
The mogul's daughter in hogtie
The mogul fingers the wrong guy, all lies

It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime

The bagman's quaking at the fingers
The hand-off glance a little lingers
A well-dressed man in the crosshairs
A shot rings out from somewhere upstairs

It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the
perfect crime
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the
perfect crime

It was the perfect crime

It was like a ticker-tape parade
When the plastique on the safe was blown away
And we all gazed from eye to eye
As we mouthed our silent goodbyes

The valley's sleeping like a bastard
It stinks of slumber and disaster
Two words are spoken on the tap wire
The agent's ploy finds a surefire backfire

It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the
perfect crime
It was a perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect, the perfect crime

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