The Night

When my first wife, Tara, was pregnant with our son, Cameron, she woke me up in the wee hours of the morning. She experiencing pain and thought she was going into labor early. She was about 6 months pregnant. I hurried her to the car and rushed her towards Los Angeles County Hospital. Halfway there, she wanted me to stop. She said that it wasn’t labor pains, that she merely had to go to the bathroom. So, with her repeated assurance that this was indeed the cause of her pain, I stopped and let her go into a restaurant to use the bathroom. While I waited, I saw a little girl sitting on the curb. She pulled something out of the water in the gutter. Shortly after that, a man came out of a nearby bar, pulled the girl to her feet and walked away with her. Using this experience and some inspiration from another song written by Brook McCloud, during the period I was a member of his band, I wrote this song:

Across the street it flashed rhythmically,
Mac’s Cafe, Mac’s Cafe,
The glossy reflections in the rain-stained streets,
With the sounds of the midnight subway.
This place was now becoming hers, she thought.
She had been there so many times before.
She gathered her knees up between her arms,
And leaned upon the barroom door.

The night, it captures all the death in living,
But the streets are light and give a false sense of giving,
To you,
To you.

Her tawny curls flew back carelessly,
Dirt stockings on her thighs.
A tired expression seemed to bind her face,
Tear stains under her eyes.
She caught a wrapper drifting aimlessly.
Inside was a morsel left to rot.
She ate it and gazed on the wrapper’s face.
“Oh, those are pretty colors,” She thought.

The night, it captures all the death in living,
But the streets are light and give a false sense of giving,
To you,
To you.

Around 2 a.m. the bar door opens wide.
A man stumbles out on his feet.
He kicks her awake with the flick of his foot,
And drags her down the silent street.
The pulsating light still flashes on and off,
With a shimmer of the sidewalk it mothers.
Away in the distance, a young girl mournfully cries,
“Look, Daddy! Look at the pretty colors!”

The night, it captures all the death in living,
But the streets are light and give a false sense of giving,
To you,
To you.

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