A/N: This fiction is based on the final number "Make Me Happy" from Andrew Lippa's musical "The Wild Party." Queenie, Burrs, Black and certain bits of dialogue belong to Lippa. The lyrics to the song "9 Crimes" belong to Damien Rice
A Small Crime
By Olivia Mammone
The young woman had rain in her golden curls as she approached the police sergeant's desk. She sat down shakily and lit a cigarette and she was so pretty he didn't have the heart to tell her she couldn't smoke.
"Hello," she stammered. "My name is Queenie Fable. I've committed a murder."
After it was all over they'd say she did it for the headlines. They'd cluster in bars and speakeasies hunched over gin and tonics that would unknowingly be legal again the following year. They'd whisper things like "crime of passion" and "gold digger" and "ungrateful tramp."
"He gave her the world," they'd mutter shaking their heads, "and he ended up with a bullet in his gut."
They wouldn't charge her. Too pretty for jail the DA would say. Her agent would see it as a market boom and she'd haunt the last of the nation's decaying Vaudeville houses billed as "New York's Princess Jazz Slayer." Men in the wings would grab her in places and slur, "Kill me, Queenie baby, Kill me." She'd slap them all. Until her palms stung more than their faces.
Yes, they'd say she did it for the headlines. They would never know the truth about how Burrs Isakson, famed comic, pride of American Vaudeville, fell dead on his bedroom floor that night in July of twenty nine. They wouldn't ask about the bruises, the empty gin bottles, the wild party she staged to fix it all.
They'd never bother to understand how much she still loved him.
So Queenie just listened and watched after it all went down. She let them tell lies about her. It was only fair. After all she was lying too. It hadn't been her hand that pulled the trigger.
A milky, yellow light leaked spectrally over the rumpled bed where she lay in his arms. Queenie's eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep and rouge. She did not know the time or even the day. Had everyone gone home?
In the doorway before her a dark figure was blocking the beautiful light. Beside her Black stirred and awoke. The thick summer air mixed with her heady perfume. It would not allow her head to clear.
"Who's there," she called warily. "Who is that?"
"Who do you think?"
The growling voice that answered her call sent her flying from the bed. The man she found next to her was already grabbing his scattered clothes. Not fast enough.
"You whore."
BAM went the door and the light snuffed out. Now she was blind but for the gingery meekness from the streetlight outside.
"Burrs?"
His steps were measured, slow. Electrical currents of orange light sparked through his smoke colored curls and pooled molten on his face. He was flushed from drinking, bruised from fighting. Any pity Queenie may have felt was washed away under a wave of vindictive pleasure. He'd had hurt where she'd had kisses. Just the change she'd wanted when the thought of this party occurred to her. Had it really been just that morning?
"Burrsie?" Waking up just like now. Hot and tired. He'd been up all night, drinking and dreaming, watching her as she slept. Now he was angry. How could she know?
"Burrsie baby, I'm so tired. Pour me a cup of coffee would you? Please?"
He looked over at her. Yes she looked tired. Tired of the sticky New York heat. Tired of bad sex or none at all. Tired of this man who never told her he loved her.
He knew she was tired. He knew she hated him. She didn't have to say so.
"Come on, baby." Again that voice. "Queenie is oh so tired. Pour out a cup for me."
He was up on his feet almost before either of them knew it.
"You lazy slut!"
WHAM! BAM! The face. The eye. Then she fought back. She made a break for the kitchen, grabbed a knife. She did not have tears in her storm gray eyes as she turned to face him.
"You touch me again," she said between heaving breaths. "I'll kill you."
Maybe she was bluffing, neither of them knew. Burrs turned slowly and went back into their bed. It was warm from her and it smelled like her and he loved her so much. Queenie put the knife away, calmly washed her hands, went to the table and poured black sugared coffee into a chipped porcelain mug.
She had been strong then. She could be strong now.
"Burrs," she held her chin high and clashed with his gaze. "I want you out. Get out."
He just laughed. She knew that sound very well. More a snarl or a sob than anything else. She felt a pang deep in herself.
"Out?" He laughed still. "This is my house, you stupid whore."
Again that word. He had told her once how much he hated it, how disrespectful it seemed. In his using it she heard the echo of his hurt and of how she'd hurt him. Burrs opened his eyes to them again and his face fell slightly, as though he hoped this all might be a dream. Queenie flinched. It was like running smack into a brick wall. They glittered like shards of shattered glass. How could such black eyes burn that way?
"I'll kill you."
He said it slowly, with an air of realization. Then, with heaven-splitting violence, screamed it out to echo off the walls and into the night that may have existed outside them.
"I'll kill you!"
Queenie put up her hands and parted her lips hopelessly, but he rushed her before she even had a chance to scream. The blow never came. She opened her eyes. Black. She'd forgotten Black, the strong, silent shadow sharing her bed.
She had sat in the kitchen for a very long time. Burrs, she knew, was back in bed but would not sleep. He would stay awake throbbing inside her.
"I won't let this go on," she told the empty room.
But what could she do? She could not hit like a man but that wasn't what she wanted anyway. Blood was his coin. What Queenie wanted was retribution. She wanted him to hurt inside. For years she adored him just like hundreds of millions of others. Now she wanted to be adored. She wanted him to suffer, and she wanted others to see it.
There would be a party.
By ten o'clock all their friends were there and in a room of swirling colors and sweating, clamoring bodies did she find him. A stranger, tall and heavy of shoulder. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes and a dark suit that Queenie saw was worth more money than Burrs would see in ten lifetimes. How fitting then that he should be introduced to her as simply, "Black."
Queenie smiled. He was perfect.
She didn't quite know how he got in front of her so quickly. Black gave Burrs a vicious shove, knocking him into their dressing table.
"Get up!" bellowed the younger man. "Off the floor, you drunk fuck. You'll never talk to my girl like that again."
Burrs' face changed again. He seemed to forget all about his opponent, looking instead at that strange goddess of a woman in the corner. She was statuesque, almost virginal, with marble white skin and a red poppy mouth. But she was withered, pushed up against the wall like a pressed flower. Tears glistened in his faraway eyes, but Burrs smiled with his mouth.
"Your…girl?"
He gave a drunken, high pitched giggle and got staggeringly to his feet, leaning heavily on their bed. There was a strange red sheen over everything he saw. He could feel where the two of them had lain tangled in these sheets together kissing and touching. It made his fingers hurt
"Well, well, well, Miss Queenie, haven't you had a fun night."
Queenie looked away. Black looked towards her almost pityingly and though his eyes never left her face, Burrs saw.
"Was it a good party, Queenie?" he seethed. "Did you get everything you wanted? I'm so glad! But you know, I've gotta tell you I'm starting to get a little bored. What can we do about that?"
They didn't see one violently trembling hand dart underneath the mattress. Suddenly Queenie screamed as a flash of silver glittered in the darkness.
"LET'S SPICE UP THE PARTY!"
"Burrs, what are you doing?" Her voice was quiet with breathless fear. "Burrs, put the gun down."
"Shut the fuck up!"
A sob in his voice tore at the command. Now his whole body shook mercilessly as he pointed the gun directly at her. She put her hands to her face and sobbed too, but his smile never moved it just widened.
"Oh Queenie angel, you're crying," he jeered. "Would you like me to put on a show for you? What a great audience this is! Sure, it's a small room but I can work with that. I can make anyone laugh, Queenie, you know I can. Once upon a time I made you laugh. You ready to laugh now, baby?"
She whimpered and sank down to the floor.
"No? Well maybe your honey boy will prove to be more fun than you are."
He moved off her and took aim. Black's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Burrs could practically smell the fear on him. And he loved it.
"Such a strapping young lad," he spat mockingly. "It's no wonder she let you get a slice of the pie." He chuckled cruelly. "All though, maybe it was all that dough she had eyes for. Bet that's what accounts for the bulge in your pants."
Black balled his sweating palms into fists. Gulping, he pushed through the heavy fog of fear and took a step forward. Queenie looked on helplessly, face in her hands. Her whole heart and soul was screaming for help. She hadn't wanted this.
Black had shown up with Queenie's friend Kate, but she knew right away it was a ploy. Everybody knew Kate was hot for only Burrs and the way Queenie felt tonight she could damn well have him. Inside half an hour Kate had flitted off to pour gin down Burrs' throat, leaving her quiet escort unprotected. Queenie checked her hair in a wineglass, threw a good blues record on the Victrola and went in for the kill, all tender eyes and shimmying thighs. They danced, she pressed close to the stranger's shoulder, and all the time she felt Burrs watching them. When the song ended he dragged her into a secluded corner. Words flew. Nobody heard her moan when he twisted her arm, but when she returned to Black, he seemed different to her. They too found a corner. She drank her whiskey sour, talking and talking. What scared her most was for the first time in an age, these words were true. Black only ever spoke once. She had regained herself momentarily and was teasingly trying to drink from his glass. As she craned her head forward towards the glittering rim, there was a soft voice.
"Queenie?"
She looked up just in time for his lips to press into hers. After a fleeting second they broke apart and all her words were stolen. He smiled with the eyes of a little boy.
"Queenie?" he asked again.
Next thing she knew, Queenie was locked in the bathroom crying. The mirror had a huge crack down it, so her face was split in two.
"The queen of the stage," she hissed to herself. "The most beautiful woman in New York City. Just look at me now."
She wiped furiously at her ruined face and sank down on the rim of the bathtub.
"What the hell am I doing?"
The answer was obvious. She was falling in love.
Queenie got up feverishly and confronted herself in the mirror again. She made herself remember Burrs, at a time when they were younger, when he had promised her the world and together they'd taken it. It was he who'd transformed a scared sixteen year old orphan into today's Vaudeville nightingale. He'd given her a career, a home and later on, a love the likes of which she'd never known. Wild and passionate, tender and strong. Their world had been bright orange, more dazzling than the sun.
But now the world she saw was black and blue. She'd thought of tonight as a way to get it back and she was, just not the way she'd thought. Queenie knew before the night was done her life would be changed forever.
"Who's it gonna be?" she asked the two halves in the mirror. "Who's it gonna be?"
She jumped as a knock roused her. From outside she heard him say her name again. She hurriedly did her best to fix her face and, both jumping for joy and fighting tears, she turned the lock. Black entered, smiling halfheartedly.
"There you are," he murmured. Queenie held up her chin and smiled.
"Just powdering my nose."
"I didn't mean to upset you, you know. That kiss…"
"—Did not upset me," she replied and laughed nervously. There was a tense pause. "Let's get a drink, hmm?"
She moved to leave the room quickly. It seemed to her that her breakdown was hanging in the air around them and any second he'd catch wind of it. Black reached out and brushed her forearm with his fingertips. That one sweet, gentle gesture made Queenie stop dead. It was barely anything, too soft to even be called a touch. Burrs never would have done that. Even in the orange days he would have taken her hand and steered her off. When she turned, Black spoke like a lullaby.
"We both know what's going on here, don't we?"
Somehow she found the strength to nod. Only then did he place his hands on her shoulders and face her openly.
"Queenie…At the end of the day it has to be your choice. But when you make it, I just want you to know I'll be here."
She could find no way to answer him. She did not want to kiss him yet, but when she embraced him and rested her head against his chest she saw color behind her eyes.
Now he was advancing toward the muzzle of the gun. Like a lion on the hunt, Burrs sensed the tiny movement of his prey.
"How about it, Casanova?" he sneered. "You gonna be this slut's knight in shining armor, saving her from big bad Burrs? I don't think so, pal."
Slowly he took the deadly focus off Black. The sigh of relief was just starting to form in Queenie's throat as he spoke again in that contemptuous, barely restrained voice.
"This certainly is a fix ain't it? Neither of you want to play, that's all right. But three is a crowd you know, so if it isn't you…"
His eyes rolled menacingly to meet those of his lover, then his rival.
"…And it isn't you…Then it's got to be…"
He lifted his arm mechanically, staring ahead with glazed eyes and frozen smile. When the cold metal touched his temple it finally melted away. Burrs' whole face grew aged and tired. Hot tears finally streamed from underneath his eyelids. The burning salt of them stung the shiners on his face. He sobbed a little.
"It's gotta be me."
When he opened his eyes again, Queenie found she could no longer stand it. She knew she couldn't choose, for she loved them both. The little girl inside her was begging for the middle ground. There had to be a way to save these men and herself.
"Burrs," she pleaded, and at her very voice his eyes brightened. "Burrs not that, please. I'm begging you."
Again his face changed. The horrible grin resurged and he shook his head.
"You're begging me?" he repeated, amazed fury coursing hot as lava through the sentence. "Oh Queenie, I don't think you know how to beg. You never needed to. I taught you to demand, to demand the very best. I gave you everything."
He realized his own words and choked on them, taking the gun away from his skin. He trained it back at them, but his arm shook. His resolve wavered. The opening was there and Black seized the moment. Burrs exploded.
"YOU TAKE ONE STEP AND I'LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!"
But the boy had his courage up now. If he could just get that gun…
"You sniveling coward," he challenged. "You dog! Can't even fight like a man you've got to pull a gun. You're nothing but booze and weakness. You don't deserve a woman like her!"
"Shut up!" Burrs tried to roar but the tears in his voice betrayed him. The shakes were growing worse. "You shut up!"
"You don't deserve her," he said again. "And you know it. That's why you hurt her because you know there's no one else who'd stand to be with you. Well she doesn't love you anymore, you clown. She loves me. Why don't you drop that thing and let her go and we'll settle this? Maybe you're afraid to."
Silence descended, taut as a bowstring. Burrs' eyes sparkled madly. The tables were turning again.
"That's what you think, that I'm scared to die? Oh don't look so shocked, kid. That is your master plan isn't it? You'll get me riled up, we'll scuffle a little and the second my chips are down you'll knock me. You think that scares me? You don't know a god damn thing. I love my girl. I'd die for her.
His voice was no longer crazed or jeering. Now he just sounded tired. He looked over at Queenie.
"How could you do this to me?" He was bawling now. "Look what you've driven me to! Do you think I want this? Do you? Damn it Queenie, I'm not like this!"
"I know, Burrs, I know that," Queenie nodded frantically. She knew both of them were telling the truth at last. "I know you're not, sweetheart, so don't be. Don't be what you're not. Put it down, Burrsie, please."
She wanted to go to him but she couldn't make her feet move. For a long time she saw him fighting, then the pain overwhelmed the light in his eyes and smothered it. His face grew cold and hard but the smile returned.
"I'd die for you," he said simply. "Would he?"
In the next instant he leapt over the bed and took Black by the throat, forcing him to his knees with an animal's speed and strength.
"Burrs, no!"
"I can't let you get away with it, baby!" His howl was like an animal too. "Can't you see? Time's running out. Even if I let him die you'll never come back. It's all over for me."
She had to do something. On the floor Black too had begun to plead frantically and though Burrs screamed at him for quiet, he did not move. Queenie tried to get to her feet but her whole body trembled and she tumbled to the floor, so she crawled behind the bed to where he could see her. She had loved this man once, part of her loved him still. If she was to save anyone she'd have to make him, and herself, remember why.
By that time they'd known each other for almost four years, first as friends, then lovers. But they had only been living together for a week when she found out about his nightmares. He had told her before that he had sleep problems, sometimes he showed up to their dates looking tired. This would be the first of many, many nights.
She awoke towards morning and rolled over to touch him, still unable to believe how lucky she'd become. In the following week she would turn twenty one and perform her first engagement at the Palace, the crown jewel of Vaudeville. Burrs had gotten her the gig. They'd celebrated by making love for the first time.
Imagine her surprise then, when she found there was no one beside her.
"Burrsie?" she cooed sleepily. It was what everyone called him. When there was no answer she got worried. She threw on her robe and tiptoed through the dark apartment, near tears. What if he'd decided he didn't love her after all? What if it was a joke? Maybe she'd dreamed it all and would wake up again in the whorehouse on Forty Fourth Street with Kate snoring beside her.
Then when she reached the kitchen she heard it, a faint sound in the studio. A man's voice. It sounded like someone crying.
"Mmm…mm…no…No stop! Belt, wrench, fist…hit, hit…It hurts, hurts me…"
He was lying on the couch, balled up in its corner, fingers buried deep in his curly hair. His face was scrunched up tight and he shifted further and further into his crook. There was more of this talk, about hitting and hurting and other terrible allusions croaked out in a child's voice in between heavy sobs. There was an empty bottle on the floor; also a first in what would be a very long line.
Queenie stole to his side and took the sleeping man in her arms. At her touch his eyes fluttered open. He looked around confusedly with teary eyes.
"What happened?" he croaked. "Who…Queenie?"
The young beauty smiled down at him. Still half asleep, Burrs whimpered.
"Queenie," he mumbled. "Queenie, I'm scared…He hit me. He hit me so hard…"
"Shhh," she soothed him stroking the thick brown hair and blinking back her own tears. "It's okay, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it's okay. I'm here."
He looked up at her slowly with indistinct eyes. She could almost feel the bad dream seeping out of him. She would take it into herself and keep it.
Burrs rolled over a little, wrapping his arms around her trim little waist and hiding his eyes in her belly. She was warm and soft. Together they sat entwined, feeling each other breathe.
"I love you, Queenie…Promise you'll never, ever go 'way," he begged. She promised.
"I love you too. I'll always take care of you."
But he was still afraid and clung to her as though she too was just a dream. She rocked him like a child and though she knew no lullabies, she sang his name over and over until it lulled her too into sleep.
"Burrsie…Burrsie…Burrsie…it's all right. Queenie's here…Queenie's here…"
All her life she had been the beautiful tempting apple, but at that moment Queenie became the serpent. She'd led another to the forbidden fruit and now she was required to crawl on her belly across a cold and dusty floor. Burrs was hunched over a simpering Black, both of them shouting.
"Don't do this, please don't do it. You don't want to do this, you really don't…"
"Shut the hell up, god damn you! This is all your fucking fault. I'm gonna see to it you rot in Hell!"
She had to bring him back. She had to make herself heard. She began to sing, faintly, soothingly.
"Burrsie…Burrsie…Burrsie, it's all right…Queenie's here now…Queenie cares about you…Burrsie…Burrsie…Burrsie…"
He could hear her, she knew he could. But he was so close. All he had to do was pull the trigger. His insults and threats became harder to heed as the volume of her pleas increased. By the time she reached his feet, she grabbed his wrist and wept one last try.
"Burrsie!"
He snapped. He turned. He screamed.
"WHAT?"
Queenie rose onto her knees, reaching out to her lover in supplication.
"You win."
Her voice was softer than wind on water. Burrs wasn't sure if he heard.
"W-What?"
"I said you win, baby." She forced herself to smile through her tears. "I'm so sorry, honey, I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean it. Let's not fight anymore. I want to laugh, Burrs, I just want to laugh with you."
That strange war of emotion waged again across his broad face. His eyes were huge and in them she saw that same childlike wonder as from all those bad dreams. But just as she allowed herself to hope they closed off again.
"Y-you're lying!" he stammered. "It's all a trick! It's all to trick me!"
He cocked the gun. Black whimpered and shut his eyes. Queenie put up her hands desperately.
"No, no, no, baby, no. It started out that way but it's different now I promise. I love you. I want to be with you."
"Queenie, what are you doing?" Black shouted. "Are you insane? What about me?"
She glared at him, praying to God he could see the secret message in her eyes. She went on, spurred by the fact that Burrs had not noticed the outburst. His eyes never left her face.
"You…you'll really come back?" he asked warily. Queenie smiled wider.
"Didn't I promise to always take care of you? Didn't I promise I'd never leave? I'm yours forever, my sweet. All you have to do is put that down. Let him go and everything will be okay."
He whimpered a little and looked back and forth between them. Queenie bit her lip. Almost there.
"You don't want to hurt anybody, Burrsie. You wouldn't hurt him, you're not a killer. You wouldn't make me cry."
"I…wouldn't make you cry…"
He sounded as though he were talking in his sleep. Slowly, she made her way toward him. She reached up, took him by the wrist and lowered his hand. Burrs shut his eyes and moaned.
"Come on…Come on…"
BAM!
Burrs toppled to the floor into her arms and wept great screaming tears into her breast.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he shouted. "I'm so, so sorry!"
"Shhh," she soothed him stroking the thick brown hair and blinking back her own tears. "It's okay, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it's okay. I'm here."
She rocked him like a child. And for a moment she truly believed that this too was just one of his bad dreams. But it was over now.
Across the room, Black sat forgotten and alone, staring at these two people made one. He did not understand. Was she lying? What would she do? What should he do? Should he just accept defeat? Get up and slip into the night that shared his name?
No. He loved Queenie. He was in love with her and he knew she loved him.
Didn't she?
That was when he saw a glint of silver in the near-total absence of light. He hadn't dropped the gun!
Without thinking, Black leapt to his feet and in one move was before them. He tore Queenie from Burrs' arms and pushed her away, hauling Burrs to his feet and shoving him into the wall. He pinned his arms but Burrs was larger and fought back. As they struggled three voices merged into a crescendo as one.
"NO!"
And then Queenie heard one single horrible pop. Firecrackers went off in her head and she went to hide her eyes. When she looked up again both men were standing utterly, perfectly still. They seemed to stay like that forever. Queenie could not even muster enough breath to cry out, pressing her hands into her mouth as her ears filled with the silent roar of blood. But the blood was not hers.
Burrs reeled.
He reeled back, groping feebly at the growing scarlet stain against his white cotton shirt. With a dull thud his body hit the floor. For an eternal moment there was no sound in the entire world. Burrs made a whimpering sound, muted almost shocked. He looked up at them and…
"Haaaha….AHAAHAHAHAHA! Oh…oh, ha..."
Burrs Isakson, famed comic, pride of American Vaudeville, was lying in his apartment on July seventeenth, nineteen twenty nine dead.
He had died laughing.
Queenie stood up slowly and approached in terror.
"Oh God…"
The words squeezed themselves out of her. The room felt too small, her skin too tight. She heard Black's voice, seemingly from a great distance.
"I didn't mean to."
She felt herself nod as she dropped down beside the body. She bent down and kissed whatever was left of Burrs, smoothing the hair off his forehead.
"I never meant this to happen," she whispered. "Believe me. Please believe me."
"…Queenie?"
When she heard him she became angry. If he had never said her name none of this would have happened. She turned her tear streaked face back to his. As quick as it had come, the anger drained away, replaced by raging panic.
"Black," she whispered. "Look what we've done."
"We have to leave now, before someone comes looking. If we get a running start we'll be able to make it out of this."
In truth Black had no idea whether or not this was true. Queenie stared at him, her jaw hanging.
"We…we can't just leave him here!" she protested. "We have to tell the police."
"And both of us will get the chair."
"But it was an accident!"
"They're not going to care about that in court, Queenie. A life for a life that's how it goes. There's no such thing as a small crime in New York City. And I'm not going down for him."
Queenie took a long, hard look at the man she thought would change her life. She knew better than to blame him, but he seemed weak to her now. It may have been that she loved him, but also maybe not.
"You don't have to," she said quietly after a moment. "I'll go. You take the fire escape out of here and I'll tell them it was just me."
He gaped at her, shaking his head wildly. She nodded hers just as firmly.
"No, Queenie, I won't let you. There has to be another way. Everybody knows there was a party here tonight. They know how he drank. It could look like suicide."
"Damn it Black, a man is dead!" She found herself screaming. "My lover is dead!"
Those words stunned them both into silence for a moment. When she spoke again her voice was lower but breathless with suspended sobs.
"Either you can go with me or I'll go alone, I don't care. But I have to save somebody. There has to be some light from this death."
Black was silent. He stood there staring at her for a long time. How could she still, after all this, be so beautiful? Like a man in a dream he crossed the room, bent down and kissed her.
"I love you," he said.
"I know."
Without another word he opened her bedroom window and swung one leg over. He cast one last long look at her, but she was staring down at Burrs. He left and ran down the dirty street into the rising sun. After he was gone Queenie made the call without any tears. She did not move from Burrs' side again until she heard sirens outside. Her only comment to the officers: "Let me get my coat."
Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse
Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright
With you?
Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be cheating on you
It's the wrong time
She's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse
Is that alright?
I give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright?
I give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright
Is that alright with you?
Is that alright?
I give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright?
If I give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright
Is that alright with you?
No…
"9 Crimes," Damien Rice