It’s a secret, it’s
the church
It matters not, on what patch of ground,
The holy “nuns” never acted alone,
Babies and infants, unfortunately bound,
Never again, through hunger moan,
This is Ireland, stronghold of the church,
Where all bow down, in praise and glory,
A paedophile caught, a child lay’s hurt,
Details hidden, no further story,
A Christian brother gives out detention,
A frightened child stays after school,
Beneath his smock detailed attention,
Tells his brothers, that child’s a tool,
First communion class, taught by a nun,
Excited children, eager to receive,
His body secretly forced on some,
And from the stigma, no reprieve,
Tuam in Galway, you are not the first,
Yet trembling again, a secret is out,
Successive governments, their bubble burst,
All along they knew, what the church was about,
Pack em tight now, we need the space,
Make sure they’re all covered well,
Tighter the better, with a downward face,
They’re souls are tainted, they’re off to hell,
Packed into the ground and left to rot,
Children dead from who knows what,
Does it matter from which religious order?
From where in the country, what side of
the border?
Oh holier than thou, are you priests, nuns, and brothers,
As successive governments, held tight your hands,
While your coffers flourished, babies and mothers,
Ye buried deep ye’re secrets, across this land,
Proud to be Irish, don’t make me laugh,
Send that basket round the pews, each week,
Monies needed to keep the church alive,
If there is a god, then on you, Satan will thrive
