The Departed
by Mal Aimee

They were the Oleander Society
Code names at midnight and whispers
Boys playing boys playing men playing guns
Nothing arcane
Just those whispers
Of the innocent and the lonely

She only wore one earring
Who cared for the other?
Only one more thing she'd lost
And was not
An oleander
But a rose too prickly for beauty

Then it became boys playing boys playing men playing pricks playing guns
The boys grew and never gave cause
For medals or ribbons
Chivalry and debauchery seemed symmetrical
And blended together

She called it not hope but patience
And set her sights on unfeigned vice
Everyone knows some things are bulletproof
Screams and fog, yet not skin and flesh
Of neither the living nor the Departed
(often she wondered whether they were the latter)

Disclaimer: yes, I borrowed Scorsese's title. So much for that, I'm not making any money from it :-P.