The Irish lady and the Mexican owned a bar
Between the opera house and the dirtiest strip club in town
The kids played with sombreros while dad took a trip next door on his way to "the car"
Once in a while, there was a wedding; Once in a while, someone resisted arrest
The little girl in the corner with the coloring books saw it all
In the attic, walls were lined with drying tie-dyed table cloths
An old guitar promised the man asleep on the muddy brown couch his destiny
Down the rickety stairs sat the a-little-too-frequents' in the dark
A mixture of cheers and hollers echo through the heavily smoky night air
The bartender talks more than most do
Heavy interest lies in his intense eyes, sponge ears
He's recording every last word in his head; to write it down later.
This place is a little pool of Catholic forgiveness
"We don't do background checks; we can feel the honesty in people"
I return to find the place burn down to the cement.
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