Rememberings

by Sinéad O'Connor

She isn’t violent at all; she’s a canary in a tiger suit.

A child can’t be singing a song whose narrator is Death. I don’t know where it came from.

Because she likes me, and she doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t like me.

After I’d convinced him that I was the sole author of my own destiny, despite being female,

I will never be financially independent of people with penises.

Also, they treat me like a boy, which makes me a happy girl.

There’s a very good reason that God made the word touring rhyme with the word whoring.

Because everyone was already calling me crazy for not acting like a pop star. For not worshipping fame.

It was produced by Dónal Lunny, as was my third child, Shane;

And there’s a throne in heaven for you, encrusted with a jewel for every white hair your wild child ever