The story
He knows the night is listening, and it isn’t kind.
He stands under the neon with his hands in his pockets, hearing one cat call after another bounce off the brick and the barroom glass. The joke lands like a bruise, and he keeps his face steady while the crowd keeps turning mean, until the silence between the whistles feels worse than the noise.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.