And, Of Course, They've Always Condemned Dancing.

I Don't Absolve My Father Completely Of His Responsibility For What He Did To Us I Feel Compassion, Maybe. He Had His Demons. But I Still Can't Understand How A Man Can Walk Away From Children. And Leave Them To Starve, As We Nearly Did, If It Wasn't For My Mother Going Out And Begging.

The Master Says It's A Glorious Thing To Die For The Faith And Dad Says It's A Glorious Thing To Die For Ireland And I Wonder If There's Anyone In The World Who Would Like Us To Live. My Brothers Are Dead And My Sister Is Dead And I Wonder If They Died For Ireland Or For The Faith. Dad Says They Were Too Young To Die For Anything. Mam Says It Was Disease And Starvation And Him Never Having A Job. Dad Says, Och, Angela, Puts On His Cap, And Goes For A Long Walk.

In The High School Classroom You Are A Drill Sergent, A Rabbi, A Shoulder To Cry On, A Disciplinarian, A Singer, A Low-level Scholar, A Clerk, A Referee, A Clown, A Counselor, A Dress-code Enforcer, A Conductor, An Apologist, A Philosopher, A Collaborator, A Tap Dancer, A Politician, A Therapist, A Fool, A Traffic Cop, A Priest, A Mother-father-brother-sister-uncle-aunt, A Bookeeper, A Critic, A Psychologist, The Last Straw.

Love Her As In Childhood Through Feeble, Old And Grey. For You’ll Never Miss A Mother’s Love Till She’s Buried Beneath The Clay.

He Says, You Have To Study And Learn So That You Can Make Up Your Own Mind About History And Everything Else But You Can’t Make Up An Empty Mind. Stock Your Mind, Stock Your Mind. It Is Your House Of Treasure And No One In The World Can Interfere With It. If You Won The Irish Sweepstakes And Bought A House That Needed Furniture Would You Fill It With Bits And Pieces Of Rubbish? Your Mind Is Your House And If You Fill It With Rubbish From The Cinemas It Will Rot In Your Head. You Might Be Poor, Your Shoes Might Be Broken, But Your Mind Is A Palace.