Red Moon Rising

There's blood from Guanajuato running in grandfather's veins
It fills the belt he bought from Michoacán, forever etched into his skin.
And they tell me that the same blood is running all around inside me
and I believe it. I believe it. My blood speaks Spanish to me.

Grandmother's from El Salvador, but we all grew up east of LA
Where chili lime just costs a dime and coco water's more plentiful than rain.
Grandma says I've got a cactus stem nailed to the top of my head.
But she says not to worry. The Virgin Mary likes me that way.

Oh, I know. In me, there's a red moon rising.
Oh, I know. In me, a coyote's smiling at a red moon rising

I can close my eyes and see the living room that sits three thousand miles away
It's the womb where all my cousins grew, the paneling all lined with photos of saints.
Yeah, it's a temple on a cul-de-sac, where innocence and refuge meet.
Muffling out the choir of car alarms so tired little children can sleep.

Oh, I know. In me, there's a red moon rising.
Oh, I know. In me, a coyote's smiling at the red moon rising.

When I left that place,
I felt as though my accent didn't sound the same and that I'd never get it back.
I have a new part to play. It's the sort of thing that happens when you come of age,
but even in the midst of all this change for me,
I will never forget where I come from

I know. In me, there's a red moon rising.
Oh I know. In me, a coyote's smiling at the red moon rising.