The Perfect Crime #2 (The Perfect Crime #2.5.1) - The Decemberists

Sing, Muse, of the passion of the pistol

Sing, Muse, of the warning by the whistle

A night so dark in the waning

A dawn obscured by a 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, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect crime

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

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, the perfect crime

It was a perfect crime

The bagman’s quaking at the fingers

The hand-off, glance a little lingers

A well-dressed man in the cross-hairs

A shot rings out from somewhere upstairs

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

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect crime

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

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, the perfect crime

It was a 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 spoke on the tap wire

The agent’s ploy finds a surefire backfire

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

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect crime

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

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, the perfect crime

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

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect

A perfect, a perfect, a perfect, a perfect crime