The Decemberists - The Perfect Crime #2 текст песни

Sing, muse, of passion of the pistol
Sing, muse, of the warning by the whistle
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 hog-tie
The mogul fingers the wrong guy, all right

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

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

It was 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, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect crime

It was a perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, 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 slumbering disaster
Two words are spoke on the tap-wire
The agent's ploy finds a sure-fire backfire

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

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

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