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It's New Year, 1979, at Funderland in the RDS in Dublin. In the cold calculation of the January air, a young girl tries to talk
Nobody can see my name on me.My name is insideand all over me, unseenlike other people also keep it.Isn't my name magical?
Here now skyline assembles fire.The sun collects up to leave.Its bright following paled,suddenly all goes. Dusk rushesin, like door closed on windowless room.
In our flatfaces speakof places across the sea.
In our flatvoices walk intalking, but not like me.