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(spoken word)

Father Shufflemeir
        (instructions for the band) 
start this lightly
in a major key
climbing and climbing, higher and higher, gradually building up the momentum until you reach a crescendo and come to a sudden
halt
a pause for thought
then you build up again
this time in a minor key
steady
more deliberate
an army of the oppressed, risen from the dead and marching for justice

father shufflemeir
could he ever kick a ball
kick a ball kick a ball
brother could he kick a ball
father could he kick a ball
football soccer ball
whatever you call it he could kick it
it was irish rules
irish american rules
which is to say no fucking rules at all 
I pick up the ball and you smash me in the face and take it away then I kick you in the kneecap and take it back, there we were bleeding all over the football field and he would lift up his cassock and dance around us like an irish angel like a mad dutchman, none of us could touch him, he only did it the once, only to show us, only because his spirit was flying high, a little too high that day and he couldnt rein it in, he had to let it go, let us see what he could do, what was possible, the beautiful glorious wonderful possibilities of a wild spirit of an untamed heart, I remember I remember I remember it forever because it wasnt just a football field, it wasnt just a game, it wasnt just that day, it was a brief glimpse of infinity he gave us before they locked him away in a mountain stronghold, he had a wild love of true and dangerous ideas and we were dead meat in a football field waiting to grow old get drunk and fuck until he showed us the mountain top dancing in the lightning with only the stars for a limit and only
one rule to whom much is given

much is expected

he was the first in a long line of priests and nuns who had hearts as big as the god they tried to believe in who led me out of the desert who came down from the mountaintops of peru, back from the fields of africa breathing fire and anger at the bastards who murdered and pillaged their flock in the name of america the beautiful in the name of a lost russian revolution in the name of a betrayed god christ crucified by his own popes and cardinals, I look at the life you led and I am ashamed of the little I have done

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