i was an unmarried girl i d just turned twenty seven when they sent me to the sisters for the way men looked at me branded as a jezebel i knew i was not bound for heaven i d be cast in shame into the magdalene laundries most girls come here pregnant some by their own fathers bridget got that belly by her parish priest we re trying to get things white as snow all of us woe begotten daughters in the streaming stains of the magdalene laundries prostitutes and destitutes and temptresses like me fallen women sentenced into dreamless drudgery why do they call this heartless place our lady of charity oh charity these bloodless brides of jesus if they just once glimpsed their groom then they d know and they d drop the stones concealed behind their rosaries they wilt the grass they walk upon they leech the light out of a room they d like to drive us down the drain at the magdalene laundries peg o connell died today she was a cheeky girl a flirt they just stuffed her in a hole surely to god you d think at least some bells should ring one day i m going to die here too and they ll plant me in the dirt like some lame bulb that never blooms come any spring not any spring no not any spring not any spring