Unspoken - Give her a Voice


Witches or women
This war on our flesh
A compartment they once came from,
For nine months their own nest,
They too were excreted

With blood, gore and mess.
An unsavory image they choose to reject.
Instead, the right to birth they protect

They choose to cause vicious obstruction
To regulate the choice of our reproduction.

In the fight for our freedom, women close at their side
Now free state won - back to the bedroom, lie down! legs spread wide
For the greater good of Ireland? Obey. Oblige.
Let them do their bit.
And who’ll give a shit.

The Irish mammy, mother Ireland, blessed virgin pure
A far cry from Ms. Magdalene, that rogue and sinful hoor

These perverted standards can’t be achieved,
A society of such morals can never be pleased

Carnal lust will cause mistrust.

can’t stand the sight of us
Impure thoughts will cause Blasphemous
Is that what she did? God forbid.

Whatever the reason, it’s always her fault

Swept under the carpet, Behind closed doors
The only way to deal with our society’s whores
trapped in the past, not willing to see
This distorted sense of sexual respectability


They say time is a healer
Well what use is that?
So many lives wasted they’ll never get back


Obstructed by the blurry intersection between church and state,
Their stolen short lives resonate, deprecate

‘Not so pretty now’ they say
because beauty is vanity and vanity vice, a head full of hair will come at a price
Shaven and beaten, degraded and broken
Identities lost, words unspoken

Culture of silence, culture of loss
While jesus scorns  down from up on his cross


So bring forth the sin eaters to devour our past,

Fest on our demons, gulp down guilt by the glass


Separate from baby alone in a room,
The memories they shared locked up in her womb

A groundskeeper tasked with burying the remains
A stain he must carry on his own moral shame

He trips, he stumbles, box falls half open,
flash of flesh, corpse unconcealed
his conscience suddenly revealed

Haunted with imagery of his load’s former existence , sick of it all,
picks up his hammer and slams another nail into the wall,
an acknowledgement, a representation for an unmarked grave, small offering for a child that never received chance to misbehave  

And just as this infant is carried to its grave
His secret too must remain enslaved.
They must not know.
of this conscience he must tow.
yet another innocent child we’ll never see grow.


Scrabble through earth for these unfortunate youth,
Yearning, mourning, searching for the truth

treated like waste, thrown into the bin
Is this the result of a life lived in sin?



A call for reclamation, lets give her a voice
lets abort order, we need to seek choice


Forget Cathleen ni Houlihan, virtuous she
Replace her with monster, savage and beast
Mother Ireland’s new voice should give them a fright
Bring us a banshee, she’ll scream them to shite
Let’s refuse to be veiled of our own lawful right
keening woman buckled over, wailing, screaming, deafening  
bare feet. loose hair. loose morals. people stare

For all that she mourns
It just isn’t fair...

Illegitimate babies exported by Catholic Orders.
Now women face time unless they cross borders

Women are fearful, swollen with sin
Forced to tread water to part from their kin
And those who can’t choose to flee in the night
Must suffer in silence and live with their plight.