Club 25 Poem by Matt Mooney

A refugee that’s me; my country goodbye:
For the fear of a prison gate from you I fly.
So full of hope and looking back no more
I landed safe and sound on Ireland’s shore.

I had to run away like the frightened hare
For their laws had an iron grip back there;
Then happy times were ended there for me,
Exiles here, my family and I would ever be.

It’s great for me to live in peace each day-
This country is so wonderful in every way;
But I am left to cope with not a job to do:
While others work it’s for the dole I queue.

Though you know my nationality and name,
This State on you I wish to lay the blame
Of not allowing me to work and not to see,
That you were not allowing me my dignity.

Back in Eastern Europe I earned my bread,
I plied my trade with pride it could be said;
Then persecution from police for me began-
The rule of force ruined the rights of man.

The State should be to us as father is to son,
But sadly that’s not always true for everyone;
I’m hoping that the Department of Justice
Will send out one day a letter to welcome us.

Our time will come and very soon they say!
May Day, May Day, roll on the first of May!
After that we are promised work permission-
That will lead the way to my self expression.

We’ll join up the Europe of money and drive
With a membership card of Club Twenty five;
Never to have to look over our shoulder again
Or to think that our status was a shame or a sin.

Thank God for my friends, too many to name,
They were kind to me since the first day I came;
No one is a stranger to those people I mention:
All treated like brothers with care and attention.

Oh at last it’s the beginning of Summer, “Oh! , ”
So “I’ll tune my fiddle and I’ll resin my bow''.
I’ll be getting my own job with a fine daily pay-
Faraway from my home in the East; faraway.