The sunset, like a tourniquet,
can hardly stem the light
and the moonrise is in my eyes
so I can see in any night.
And the ocean without motion
is stretched out like a drum
and the tall grass is at half-mast
and the day is almost done.
Everyday is judgment day,
even for the lovers.
Go and hide your face away,
O my sister, O my brothers.
The religion of this vision
is wordless and opaque
and the blessing I’m confessing
isn’t mine to give or take.
And the righteous, well, they might just
barely make the grade
and the pure love I’ve been cured of
has left me so afraid.
Chorus