All of us are stained.

Since travelling to a place of war and little hope it has been a big encouragement to reflect on how far my own little country of Northern Ireland has come in recent years. We have seen things happen that we never thought we would see. I was chatting to some of the guys about an experience I had when I was 16. We were walking home from doing a GCSE when we saw 2 IRA men shoot two policemen in the head from about 3 feet. I wrote this poem quite a few years back about the experience. Lurgan and N.I. has become a better place since I wrote it.



This is the land of black and white,
Whose God is a province and might is right.
Where babies get born in orange and green.
Red hair, left foot.
Yeah you know what I mean.
This story's found in Lurgan Town,
Where all of us are stained.

Enniskillen, Omagh, Shankill, Roselawn.
All of these days had a dawn.
On this day's dawn we lay uncovered,
Quiet and undiscovered.
But it came around in Lurgan Town,
All all of us were stained.

Sixteen years old and the futures bright,
Another milestone the world to light.
When to the left a thunder call,
Red cloud, staccato fall.
In Lurgan Town the two fell down.
And all of us are stained.

Growing up in a bubble shelter
I reached the bottom of the Helter Skelter.
Saw my innocence erode,
As I watched his head explode.
Lurgan Town will wear a frown,
And all of us are stained.

This is the land of black and white
Whose God is a province and might is right.
Over oceans and seas in many guises,
Cowboys and Indians and no surprises.
The world is found in Lurgan Town,
And all of us are stained.