From behind the Curtain

I write to you To tell you where I live now It is a small town In the west There are three corners that encompass it all The asylum, the pub, and the catholic church Went into the church for the first time like a spy The circuit board of the town What makes it all work on Sundays The holy water burns And I choke on the sacrament It is dry and bitter like the cracks in our memories I write to you I don't mean to raise you from your sleep with my pen But I've many questions again I know your father shot himself and you were not told You sought the city for a man to make the bed that we have now And I'm here to tell you That the world is epic and wrong And we are called many things And at the whims of what we're called I write to you The sky is lavender in Los Angeles And it is darkening in County Clare These pillars at the opposite sides of the earth And we belong there Ours were shot in the synagogue Like we have been before We are told to look at the moon It's what we do The hills are not on fire tonight But the sky is After the lavender ends From behind the curtain Stop at the way home from the bar To listen to the wind Because it sounds like the waves In California