She’s back from whatever bed she burned down last —
lipstick, lawsuits, borrowed light,
Got a rosary she traded for a handle of tequila in a dim bar she won’t find,
Boys with better judgment swore they’d learned from round one —
that was their mistake,
She came back prettier and twice as dangerous wearing someone else’s heartbreak.
Crossed herself before she lit the motel Bible on a dare with total ease,
Father Kevin lost his collar, and the congregation lost their properties,
Her confessions run past midnight
and the priest developed trouble sleeping sound,
She’s the kind of sanctified disaster that they build whole cities trying to knock down.
Dirty halo, bent in half and wearing it with pride,
Every man who thought he’d save her is now broke and pacified,
She kisses you like heaven’s burning and she means it — that’s the worst —
Dirty halo, holy water, and she’s always running first.
Got a sister in a convent and a brother in corrections — she’s the middle track,
She’s the last resort, the first mistake,
the reason men don’t answer calls back,
Left her college beau in Georgia with a diamond and a note that read “too slow,”
She’s the prayer they all stopped saying right before they didn’t want to go.
She said God made her sinful just to give the saints their narrative material,
Said the boys who call her broken never seen a woman that electrical,
I watched her blow a kiss at someone else’s husband without slowing down —
Dirty halo, bent and beautiful, and not about to pass it around.
She’ll ask you for a lighter and somehow leave with half your life,
No apology, no warning, just the permanent impression of her knife,
I got my own damn story and a scar to prove I was there,
Dirty halo — second time around and still I swear.