I was an unmarried girl
Id 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

Id 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

Were 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 had just once glimpsed their groom
Then theyd know, and theyd drop the stones
Concealed behind their rosaries

They wilt the grass they walk upon

They leech the light out of a room

Theyd like to drive us down the drain
At the magdalene laundries

Peg oconnell died today

She was a cheeky girl
A flirt
They just stuffed her in a hole

Surely to God youd think at least some bells should ring

One day Im going to die here too
And theyll plant me in dirtthe

Like some lame bulb
That never blooms come any spring

Not any spring

No, not any spring

Not any spring