the san fernando mission and she kneals down to pray
theres something in the water in the well down there today
it's 95F somewhere out here in the desert in the barren valley streets
and the bell rings its noon then the silence breaks
it's millions of people suffer and sacrifice to come here
the long way from central american cobble street mule seats
her long white dress it flows in the wind, she speaks of saint martin
who killed someone or found someones body or did some great thing
like letting Jesus' blood soak his shirt, his tears or sweat or some
masterful feat to accompany sainthood she shrieks when her carnage reaps her of this
brotherhood
the 101 freeway gliding swiftly past these streets, interstate 5 it weaves around
the blood has stained her fingers a memory she hates
and at the bottom of the north hills glaze terracota riffs and windy maze the freedom of los angeles awaits
her daughter winning winning her passion american film the son she never had fights freedom in her dreams
she walks home clutching her purse in one hand rosary the other and when the clocks strikes two she runs for shade.
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