Bloodied Up in a Bar Fight - Aaron West and The Roaring Twenties

It’s a new kind of empty, a beach town in the fall.

It’s new kind of silent, counting cracks in the wall.

There’s no one left to

call.

I’m locked in a jail cell.

It’s a quarter past three.

I can make out the weather on the lobby TV.

It’s gonna rain this week.

But I’m a pair of black eyes

That just got my ass kicked in the glow of an exit sign.

The cops got some friendly advice,

Says, «You don’t want problems with the crew that runs with those guys.»

Bloodied up in a bar fight.

No one’s pressing charges.

I should get out by ten.

The bartender said I was defending a friend.

Yea, they jumped a guy I paint

houses with.

The cops all got questions — is there somewhere you could stay?

I wore out my welcome at mom’s place in May.

I don’t know what she’d say.

And I don’t talk to my sister much.

I think she’s sick of my shit.

She lives up in Boston now.

Has a life with her husband and kid.

I try not to fuck with it.

But I’m just a pair of black eyes

That just got my ass kicked in the glow of an exit sign.

The cops got some friendly advice,

Says, «I would skip town before I ran back into those guys.»

Bloodied up in a bar fight.

I can’t bother Mom.

I can’t bother Catherine.

I can’t breathe through my nose.

I think that it might be broken.

I’m mastering the art of disappearing in the middle of the night.

Bloodied up in a bar fight.