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Black Cat

In a backstreet destination where the air was so thick you could slice it in two.
We ordered up beers as the hostess led us to the back room.
But there was something not right that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
In the house where the light burned from five p.m. each day straight through until noon.

Maybe I'd drank too many beers or smoked too many not too kosher cigarettes.
The four walls were pounding when I coughed and laughed and then laughed some more.
There was a table of meat that was there for the giving or taking.
And a black cat in the corner that had seen it all a thousand times before.

There's a curfew downtown, but somehow folks never lock up their daughters.
The cock crows like clockwork to let the night shift know their evening is done.
Don't look at me now. I'd prefer you to see me tomorrow.
There's a cup by the door. Leave your small change if you want to again.

The black cat starts sliding down the hot tin roof towards the street below.
Already used up his nine lives but I somehow think that he'll survive.
Two steps forward, one back as we slowly slink over to the exit.
All touched with a burning ambition to escape to the night.

As the neon turns black. I'm not religious but still clasp the St. Christopher.
That my mother had given me for Christmas or a birthday some time ago.
As I breathe the fresh air I thank god no-ones there except my brothers.
Then in the deafening silence in the distance I hear the black cat meow.