To the workhouse where tears were not shed
Long, before the dawn of day, which wasn’t his to take
Before long, the government man would come - poke, ****, pry, and
Moved again with the burning thatch still echoing its ring
The only truth, what had been - not what was or would be,
To come - the blistering of feet in hot summer sun

Present day and although the oppression has,
In a way, gone away,
There’s a red hand, clasped in a vice grip,
The land of one percent is for the few and don't you be having the lip to lament,
Even with enforced eviction -
‘why don’t you have the rent?’
History repeats itself, this time at the hand of someone like you
See, the bourgeois, petit, never ceased to be
A tragedy
From inequality born -
Ag Coinneáil Daoine Slán

It's weird
Because although you sing Bill’s famous words,
You know it probably
Won’t be a lovely day
Somewhere in the praised
Fog of dopamine release,
In circles,
Brought up -
Coming down

This, here, now,
with all of you,
This couldn't possibly
Fade away

Halcyon days, blue ghosts, that’s some yoke,
Long nights feeling short, a bit of remorse, I still love you, all - the more

Look, most important to me - none of you are  in a hearse -
Keep it that way -
Look at the stars, never the mud,
Go close to the sun above

I went to your grave today,
For the first time I thought I would
Pay my respects
To a box emerged in the clay,
Chance,
Why are things this way?
I got to see today
And despite plans best laid,
With your life you paid
For
An uncommitted sin,
An unatonable error,
The clichés,
They’re lying,
My love for you
Is undying

He wanted peace,
Which came in the form of broken sleep
On Grafton street,
A lullaby sang by chemical imbalance in the brain,
So for that this one time frame,
Things weren't quite the same,
Who is he to blame?
For wanting relief,
A prisoner of the streets,
Moved on by the police,
But the people that walk by,
They'll never miss a beat;
'****** ****, doesn't deserve my coin'
But you'll go then
To your warm home,
Sit on your throne
And you'll still moan,
'They deserve to be alone'
You won't pine,
You'll drown your brain in that nine euro Tesco wine

See you get your relief too,
But with you
It gets to be taxed,
Regulated
And swept under the rug,
So next time you judge,
Have a look within,
You'd be surprised
What you might discover
On a whim