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 

   The Mac drinks tea

in a dragonfly mug.

On the library floor

is a dragonfly rug.

Let's go once upon a time.

Let's stroll, let's roll with rhythm 'n rhyme

Let's dress up in a riding hood.

Let's take that shortcut through the wood.

It's five past three.
Sixty-four eyes look at me.
No. Sixty-two.
Not Matthew.
He hasn't learnt to read my face.
He's got digital. A disgrace!

The building is white,
ivy eating its way up the broken walls,
windows small
and scratched.

The walls of the room are white and clean -
all sign's of yesterdays sorrows scrubbed
away with bleach.

I am the clash and collide of the stars
because I create worlds.

I am the awareness of the trees
because I hear the wind.

I am angry. really angry. angry,
angry, angry. I'm so angry
I'll jump up and down. I roll on the ground
Make a din. Make you spin
Pull out my hair. Throw you in the air

'Why do you run?' I asked the river,
'So fast I can't compete.'
'I run,' the river said, 'because
I have some streams to meet.'

Kids in camouflage sprint and stumble through smoke,

their faces smeared with blood and dirt.

It’s a burnt-out city with kids tearing into enemy lines,

no weapons,