text: Joanie was an unmarried girl just turned twenty-seven
  When they sent her to the sisters because of the way men looked at her
  Branded as a jezebel she knew she was not bound for heaven
  She had been cast in shame into the Magdalene laundries
  Most girls went there pregnant some by their own fathers
  Bridget got her belly from the Parish Priest
  Theyre trying to wash things as white as snow, all of those woe-begotten daughters
  In the steaming stains of the Magdalene laundries
  Prostitutes and destitutes and temptresses like Joanie
  Fallen women sentenced into dreamless drudgery
  Why do the call this place Our Lady of Charity?
  Of Charity?
  These bloodless brides of Jesus if they could just once glimpse their groom
  Theyd drop the stones concealed behind their rosaries
  They wilt the grass they walk upon they leech the light out of a room
  Theyd like to wash those girls down the drains of The Magdalene Laundries
  Peg OConnell died today, she was a cheeky girl, they stuffed her in a hole
  Surely to God youd think at least some bells should ring
  Joanie thinks shell die there too and that theyll tramp her in the dirt
  Like some lame bulb that never will bloom when the springtime comes
  When the springtime comes