Beautiful thugs in the ally at dusk, putting blades to lip stained cheeks. Beautiful thugs in the garden at dawn leaving mist on the dark green hill; where our lover’s scar wilts. Beautiful thugs in the catholic school, selling sex and stealing bread from under the shade of a nun’s black dressed mass. From the balcony, the gang of you and I screech and howl for us whores don’t triumph the difference between evil and poetry. Echoing down to the sidewalk where black boots smash white hair and the blood falls like silk red ribbons at Christmas. The frame of you in crime’s hand: the perfect gift, the perfect crime. Sing with me, sing of devious needs. Walk with me. Nothing is imperfect when your crime is with me. Not broken bones, unlovely glares, or snow on my coat sleeve. Beautiful thugs overlooking the city; where the church bell tolls the death of civility. So everyone knows, we were the greatest story ever told. Adorned in all gold and everyone knows. Beautiful thugs on the island of poverty where the skull cracks of the god you’ve killed for me. Beautiful thugs on the sculpted marble where streets will be saints named after you and me. Beautiful bones, your beautiful bones. Beautiful bones on the sculpted marble; where saints will be with streets named after you and me. Your beautiful bones.
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