And this is why I wish I could be just like Spencer TracynBut I don’t have the build or the poisenAnd I’m a few pounds shynIf I were more like Spencer,nI might not carry this handful of broken fingersnJust cause I saw Valentino smoking under a streetlightnnI swear I’m stone-cold sober.nI can’t believe my eyesnBut I’m not going over nI just hold back and hidenThen again, the light spread all around him like wingsnnI saw Valentino nSaint ValentinonnI held back fifteen years or morenFalling in love with the lovernWatching the saint with a roll-upnResisting the urge to go overnUntil I couldn’t help itnSo I crept into the wings and halonnI said, “You look like Valentino.”nnHe grabbed me by the hair and threw me down,nScreaming, “I ought to fucking lynch you!.”nHe broke most of my fingers, nStanding on my hands.nnIt was just the same thing, all over.n