You Feel A Sense Of Urgency, Especially

There’s No Use Saying Anything In The Schoolyard Because There’s Always Someone With An Answer And There’s Nothing You Can Do But Punch Them In The Nose And If You Were To Punch Everyone Who Has An Answer You’d Be Punching Morning Noon And Night.

Sing Your Song. Dance Your Dance. Tell Your Tale.

He Sits In An Old Armchair In The Corner Covered With Bits Of Blankets And A Bucket Behind The Chair That Stinks Enough To Make You Sick And When You Look At That Old Man In The Dark Corner You Want To Get A Hose With Hot Water And Strip Him And Wash Him Down And Give Him A Big Feed Of Rashers And Eggs And Mashed Potatoes With Loads Of Butter And Salt And Onions.i Want To Take The Man From The Boer War And The Pile Of Rags In The Bed And Put Them In A Big Sunny House In The Country With Birds Chirping Away Outside The Window And A Stream Gurgling.

People Everywhere Brag And Whimper About The Woes Of Their Early Years, But Nothing Can Compare With The Irish Version: The Poverty; The Shiftless Loquacious Father; The Pious Defeated Mother Moaning By The Fire; Pompous Priests; Bullying School Masters; The English And The Terrible Things They Did To Us For Eight Hundred Long Years. Above All -- We Were Wet.

I Asked My Dad What Afflicted Meant And He Said 'sickness Son, And Things That Don't Fit.'