Thorns drawn into His body
Do you know why this is called a passion flower?
Chalk on his hands,
He thinks about kneeling and not standing up
Orm ort air uirthi
Your mother ripped herself in two for you
And He bore it through for you
On me on you on he on she
They were shot blindfolded in a yard full of stones,
Some tied to chairs, so that you could be free.
He’s counting the tiles in the ceiling,
Counting the days until he knows to be grateful
For all that he has lost.
On us on you on them
Orainn oraibh orthu
Don’t you know the names of all the rivers in Ireland?
What did they teach you in national school?