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Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains/Sive

GUEST,Curious Clouseau 09 Nov 04 - 01:37 PM
GUEST,Curious Clouseau 11 Nov 04 - 09:36 AM
GUEST,T.C.P 11 Apr 05 - 05:36 PM
Peace 11 Apr 05 - 07:10 PM
Q (Frank Staplin) 11 Apr 05 - 07:39 PM
GUEST,anonymous 02 Mar 06 - 11:28 AM
MartinRyan 21 Dec 11 - 04:16 AM
Jim Dixon 23 Dec 11 - 07:34 PM
Jim Dixon 23 Dec 11 - 07:57 PM
MartinRyan 23 Dec 11 - 08:14 PM
GUEST,999 23 Dec 11 - 09:30 PM
GUEST,Donal 23 Dec 11 - 10:01 PM
GUEST,999 23 Dec 11 - 10:12 PM
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Subject: Lyr Req: Man From The Mountains
From: GUEST,Curious Clouseau
Date: 09 Nov 04 - 01:37 PM

Heard a man sing this song over the weekend but can't find the lyrics anywhere.
The chorus went:

May the snails devour his corpse
And the rains do harm and worse
May the devil sweep the hairy creature soon
He's as greedy as a sow
As the crows behind the plough
He's the black man from the mountain Shauneen Roo

I found reference to the chorus on the net but can't find the full song.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man From The Mountains
From: GUEST,Curious Clouseau
Date: 11 Nov 04 - 09:36 AM

refresh


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man From The Mountains
From: GUEST,T.C.P
Date: 11 Apr 05 - 05:36 PM

The song is mentioned here in this article. Not sure if it's any
help but you could try e-mailing the person who wrote the article
and maybe they could help you.

http://www.emigrant.ie/article.asp?iCategoryID=142&iArticleID=281


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man From The Mountains
From: Peace
Date: 11 Apr 05 - 07:10 PM

http://www.ncf.carleton.ca/~bj333/HomePage.curses.html

Seems it's a curse. Can't find it as a song.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man From The Mountains
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 11 Apr 05 - 07:39 PM

Interesting article. Mentions John B. Keene singing "Black Man from the Mountain, Seaneen Ruadh," with the pub crowd joining in.
"Sung to the tune, "The Bright Silvery Light of the Moon." acc. to an inquiry about the song.

Link to T. C. P. site: emigrant
Would dearly love to hear it!


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains
From: GUEST,anonymous
Date: 02 Mar 06 - 11:28 AM

This song is featured in John B Keanes play Sive. Not sure if thats much more help in finding the lyrics...


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains
From: MartinRyan
Date: 21 Dec 11 - 04:16 AM

Dunno why this wasn't dealt with earlier? For a fine recording of the song by Barry Gleeson of Dublin:

Click here

Regards


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains/Sive
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 23 Dec 11 - 07:34 PM

The link doesn't work for me. I wonder if you need to be logged in to Facebook? I am not a Facebook member.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains/Sive
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 23 Dec 11 - 07:57 PM

These 6 lines are sung twice in the play Sive by John B. Keane (Cork: Mercier Press, 1959), pages 48 and 51:

May the snails devour his corpse,
And the rain do harm worse;
May the devil sweep the hairy creature soon;
He's as greedy as a sow;
And the crow behind the plough;
That black man from the mountain, Seánín Rua!


--but I can't find anything longer, and I can't find any source older than the play. Maybe Keane made it up?


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains/Sive
From: MartinRyan
Date: 23 Dec 11 - 08:14 PM

Jim

That link was working fine - I'm not sure why it now fails. Will check it out later.

Regards


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains/Sive
From: GUEST,999
Date: 23 Dec 11 - 09:30 PM

I personally don't wish to be messaged, e-mail or otherwise disturbed by this post. I found it at

http://mysite.verizon.net/cbladey/irish/HomePage.curses.html


"Irish Curses.....



May the snails devour his corpse And the rains do harm worse May the devil sweep the hairy creature soon!

He's as greedy as a sow As the crows behind the plough- The black man from the mountain,Shauneen Roo

May your hens take the disorder(the fowl-pest),your cows the crippen(phosphorosis) and your calves the white scour! May yourself go stone-blind so that you will not know your wife from a hay-stack!

May the seven terriers of hell sit on the spool of your breast and bark in at your soul-case

Woe to you you dirty fellow You've filthied me!

A red nail on the tongue that said it

By my tongue may it get you

The treatment of the boiled broken little fish to you

The Roasting of the salmon to the very end on you

May you be broken over the masons cliff

Six horse-loads of graveyard clay on top of you

You will be defeated in every engagement you take part in and in every assembly you attend you will be spat on and reviled(St.Patrick)

My curse on you and Crossconnell and may it never be without a fool(Colm Cille)

May he always be flying and straying naked through the world until death at spear-point takes him.My curse ever upon Sweeney and my blessing on Eorainn (Ro/na/n)

I pray the powerful Creator that you may go as high as the shaft of the missile and in the clouds of heaven as any bird and may the death you gave my companion-death at spear point-come also on you.(Sweeney)

...the world will see that they won't have a days luck and will disappear like the froth of the river...

You will go and live always in that place where the fishes and sprats live!

She won't be here any other time I'll call!

Evil,death short life to___

May spears of battle destroy___

May ___perish!May___pay

May it reach___Under rocks and mounds may__be

May hound-wounding,heart-ache and vultures gouging her eyes

Derangement and madness on her mind come soon

May the entrails and mansion of pleasure out of this worm fall out

But may she still be alive till everyones sick at the sight (Pedar O Doirin)

Rain and fire ill wind and snow and hard-frost follow her

May Aeolus chase her into the harbors of Acheron down. Nine time sicker than the Ulstermen's illness let her be. May this insect get an illness that Hippocrates Cannot cure.(Pedar O'Doirin)

The Boss of the ship underneath and the rest of the people being saved.(Minor Herbert)

May the curse of curses in sorrow prostrate you now!

Scorn disgrace malediction by churches and bells

Your old frame dead and lifeless with never a stir. With none to wake your corpse your limbs without a shroud! (Eoghan Rua O' Suilleabhain)

A stiff hanging hasty suitable rope round the thin throttle of this thieving villain Torturing and hanging and shaking and trembling on a rope

Since you stole the sheep,you lying spoiler into hell I wish you to be tormented- In the depths of the whirlpool with Oscar blowing And twenty-one demons each tearing you asunder

I Call on you o stone To keep Breed below She kept us short of drink And on our house brought shame And since, o Breed, you're buried now Eternal thirst to you and drought!(Anthony Raftery)

May Fire and brimstone never fail to fall in showers on____May all the Thieving fiends assail the thieving town of____ (Patrick Kelly)

May beef or lamb or veal be never seen in ____

My curse attend _____Her boats her borough and her fish. May every woe that mars man come dancing down upon her dish.For all the thieves behind you From Slaneyu's banks to Shannon side are poor scholars mind you to the rogues you'd meet in _____

harm and death to you swarthy ____.In the middle of the field may your horse kill you Because of what was small and worthless A pair of guns though o'er a fence thrown.

The devil sweep him

The devil swallow him sideways

Your soul to the devil!

May the devil make a fool of you

I give you to the devil

May the devil cut the head off you and make a days work of your neck

May the devil tear you

May old harry run away with him

Go to the dickens

May the devil damm you to the stone of dirges or to the well of ashes seven miles below hell and may the devil break your bones. And all my calamity and harm and misfortune for a year on you

In hell may you be because of your sins

May the devil have your soul under guard there .For you treacherously swore that the head of the croppies was power whom you couldn't disparage

To Halifax with him

Hell roast him

May the devil roast the___off Him

And the day will come when hell be cold and dumb and roast for eternity

May the devil take him by the heels and shake him.

Bad luck on him

Bad cess to him

Confusion on the money

The anguished bankruptcy of the year to you

May it do him no good only sorrow

May he never have a days luck

No butter be on your milk nor on your ducks a web. May your child not walk and your cow be flayed. And may the flame be bigger and wider which will go through your soul than the Connemara mountains if they were on fire

May god weaken you

May your choking come on you

May a stich or convulsion strike you

May you be mangled

A poisonous pain in you

Death and smothering on you

Dysentery on you

The sea cat and death-strangling to her

The death of the kittens to you

May he die roaring

May he fester in his grave

I loathe and detest the miserable bastards...

A death without a priest to him in a town without a clergyman.

May you not see the cuckoo nor the corncrake

My curse on you and ruin to you you lying thieving rascal.

Let it not be long till you die despite the son of god.

The fate of Ned's cock to you

The curse of his weapons upon him

The curse of the wretched and the strong on the one who gave Tattheration to him for a mule

Pursuing to them

I pray for sorrow on the house

The curse of Jesus on you

May the cats eat the women.

A fox on you fishing hook

The curse of the crows on you

The curse of Cromwell on you

May you be afflicted with the itch and have no nails to scratch with!

A mountain landslide down upon you

Whoever put me into impotent grief And took my white tom-cat in secret from me. May the mice come in waves as his company and the rats from the kiln give him the pursuit

The curse of widows and orphans on you

A high windy gallows to him

May you garner under Oscar's Flail

A red stone in your throat

May he melt away like the froth of the river Fishes hate

Horo O minister who gave me two pence

After keening you infant

May his death come on the rest of them down to the very last one

Oh ____may harm overtake you

A child be within you for ever unborn

Or if be born may he not be like a Christian. A pigs snout on him and the mouth of a sheep. A beak of a duck that could dredge in the sludge. Lest he be a hangman that would hang the people.

May every day of it be wet for ye (Saint Patrick)

O Jesus dear God and Father of the Lamb. Who sees us in fetters and in bondage so hard. As you made us Christians between Friday and Monday Protect us and banish this scum from us..

I bind you by grave injunctions of magic from the river,back to the river, may you fall in a nettle patch,may savage dogs eat you one foot on a mountain.

May you have no good luck and I recant the curse

Now may these be upon you until you have purchased me a well drawn Pint! Of Guinness! Conrad Jay Bladey 1995"

Merry Christmas.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains/Sive
From: GUEST,Donal
Date: 23 Dec 11 - 10:01 PM

I was sure that I had posted this before but I can't find it, perhaps the memory is going.


Oh, come all good men and true, a sad tale I'll tell to you,
Of the maiden who was known to me as Sive.
She was young and sweet and fair, but that house was sad and bare,
Her marriage to an old man was contrived.

Oh, Mike Glavin you're the man, you was always in the van,
With an open door to all men and gorsoons.
May white snuff be at your wake, baker's bread and currant cake,
And the plenty of your table late and soon.

On the road from Abbeyfeale, sure I met a man with meal,
"Come here," says he, "and pass your idle time."
On me he made quite bold, saying "the young will wed the old,
And the old man have money for the child."

May his eyes grow dim and red, may the hair fall off his head,
May his fortune vanish with the waning moon.
He's as greedy as a shark, or a vixen in the dark,
The black man from the mountain, Seanin Rua.

May his hens refuse to lay, may the rain destroy his hay,
That whining amadan, that big bosthoon.
May his face grow grey and old, and his blood run thin and cold,
That black man from the mountain, Seanin Rua.


1. Oh, come all good men and true, a sad tale I'll tell to you,
Of a maiden who was known to me as Sive.
She was young and she was fair, but that house of dark despair,
A marriage for the maiden did contrive.

2. On the road from Abbeyfeale, sure I met a man with meal,
"Come here," says he, "and pass your idle time."
On me he made quite bold, saying "the young will wed the old,
And the old man have the money for the child."

3. May his hens lay clods and stones, may the east wind plague his bones,
May warts and welts waylay him by the score,
I do swear upon this verse, he'll be travelling soon by hearse,
And we'll never see Sean Dota anymore.

Spoken: 1
Now the tinker's son came in, to that house of want and sin.
The father Pat Bocock smote on the floor,
Saying, "Carthalawn my blade, let a noble song be made
Bringing plenty on this house for ever more."

4. Oh, Mike Glavin you're the man, you was always in the van,
With an open door for oul lad and gorsoon.
Let good snuff be at your wake, baker's bread and curranty cake,
And the plenty on your table late and soon.

Spoken: 2
Then Seaneen Rua, the liar, sat down beside the fire,
And he matched the fair young maid that very night,
Pat Bocock did scorn that quest, sayin' "sing your almighty best,"
And the song of Carthalawn was like the blight.

5. May the snails devour his corpse, may the rains do harm worse,
May the Devil take the hairy creature soon,
He's as greedy as a sow, as the crow behind the plough,
The black man from the mountain, Seaneen Rua.

6. May he screech with awful thirst, may his brains and eyeballs burst,
That melted amadan, that big bosthoon,
May the fleas eat up his bed, may the mange consume his head,
The black man from the mountain, Seaneen Rua.

7. May the hair inside his nose curl down around his toes,
May the spittle in his gob turn into glue,
May the sight go from his eyes, and his oul man cease to rise.
The black man from the mountain, Seaneen Rua.

Spoken: 3
But that lovely maid took flight, like a wild bird in the night,
The waters washed her sweet young body o'er.
And her lover found her there and he stacked her golden hair,
And he laid her on that dark and dismal shore,
Then up spoke Pat Bocock, and his voice was sad with shock,
And his face was grey as winter as he cried,
Saying, "Carthalawn my gem, let you sing a mournful hymn,
All of the day and of the one who died."

8. Oh, come all good men and true, a sad tale I'll tell to you,
Of a maiden fair who died this day,
Oh, they murdered lovely Sive, cause she would not be a bride,
And they left her for to bury in the clay.

James N. Healy: The Second Book of Irish Ballads - Cork 1962

Here is a song, written within the last five years, which has the true spirit of the Irish ballad. Why should only traditional ballads be included in collections? - all ballads were originally written by someone, even tho' the authors of many of the best from the 19th century have never been recorded: but, above all, ballads were made to be sung. John B's ballad from the play Sive swept the country when it was first heard in 1959. In addition the lyric has real literary quality. This is the longer version; which Keane wrote specially; not all the words are used in the play.

Sung: 1. Oh, come all good men and true, a sad tale I'll tell to you,
Of a maiden who was known to me as Sive.
She was young and sweet and fair, but that household sad and bare,
Her marriage to an old man would contrive.

Spoken: 1.
Now the tinker's son came in, to that house of want and sin.
And his father Pat Bocock smote on the floor,
Saying, 'Carthalawn my blade, let a noble song be made,
Bringing plenty on this house for ever more.'

Sung: 2. Oh, Mike Glavin you're the man, you was always in the van,
With an open door to oul man and gorsoon.
May white snuff be at your wake, baker's bread and curranty cake,
And the plenty on your table late and soon.

Spoken: 2.
But they scorned the tinker's son, when his song of praise was done,
And his father Pat Bocock smote on the floor,
Saying, 'Carthalawn my jewel, let a song both wild and cruel
Settle down upon this house for evermore.

Sung: 3. On the road from Abbeyfeale, sure I met a man with meal,
'Come here,' says he, 'and pass your idle time.'
On me he made quite bold, saying 'the young will wed the old,
And the old man have the money for the child.'

Spoken: 3.
Now Seaneen Rua, the liar, was sat down 'longside the fire,
And he sold the girl Sive that very night,
Pat Bocock made on his quest, saying 'sing your mighty best,'
And the song of Carthalawn was like the blight.

Sung: 4. May the snails devour his corpse, and the rains do harm worse,
May the Devil sweep the hairy creature soon,
He's as greedy as a sow, as the crow behind the plough,
The black man from the mountain, Seaneen Rua.

Sung: 5. May his brains and eyeballs burst, may he screech with awful thirst,
That melted amadan, that big bosthoon,
May the fleas eat up his bed, and the mange consume his head,
The black man from the mountain, Seaneen Rua.

Spoken: 5
But the bonny Sive took flight, like a wild bird in the night,
And the waters washed her small white body o'er.
And her true love found her there and he stacked her golden hair,
And he laid her on that dark and dismal shore,
Then outspoke bold Pat Bocock, and his voice was sad with shock,
And his face was grey as winter as he cried,
He said, 'Carthalawn my gem, let you make an awful hymn,
All of this day and of the one who died.'

Sung: 6. Oh, come all good men and true, a sad tale I'll tell to you,
Of a maiden fair who died this day,
Oh, they drownded lovely Sive, for she would not be a bride,
And they laid her dead for to bury in the clay.

From the play text.

Oh, Mike Glavin you're the man, you was always in the van,
With a dacent house to old man and gorsoon.
May white snuff be at your wake, baker's bread and currant cake,
And the plenty of your table late and soon.

May the snails devour his corpse, and the rain do harm and worse,
May the Devil sweep the hairy creature soon,
He's as greedy as a sow, as the crow behind the plough,
That black man from the mountain, Seaneen Rua.

On the road from Abbeyfeale, sure I met a man with meal,
"Come here," says he, "and pass your idle time."
On me he made quite bold, saying "the young will wed the old,
And the old man have money for the child."

Come now, listen while I sing, to the blessing that I bring,
To the bridegroom and his lovely bride so fair,
May they dwell in wedded joy, may they ever hear the cry,
Of a new, big, bouncing baby every year.

May he screech with awful thirst, may his brains and eyeballs burst,
That melted amadan, that big bosthoon,
May the fleas consume his bed, and the mange eat up his head,
That black man from the mountain, Seaneen Rua.

May his hens lay clods and stones, may the east wind blight his bones,
May warts and welts waylay him by the score,
Now I swear upon this verse, he'll be travelling soon by hearse,
And we'll never se Sean Dota anymore.

Oh, come all good men and true, a sad tale I'll tell to you,
All of a maiden fair who died this day,
Oh, they drowned lovely Sive, she would not be a bride,
And they laid her dead, to bury in the clay.

Sive - John B. Keane

Listowel, County Kerry, February 2 1959: The Listowel Drama Group presents the first production of local publican and playwright John B. Keane's Sive. It is a hard-hitting naturalistic drama, set in a country cottage shared by three generations of the Glavin family. The youngest, Sive, is a beautiful schoolgirl, a prime example of the bright potential of the new Ireland. Though she is the illegitimate daughter of two dead parents, she is educated, intelligent, warm, and forward-looking. Her uncle Mike is a no-nonsense farmer who works all day digging turf and brings home the cash to his hard-bitten wife Mena. Mena is frustrated. She feels slighted by the presence of Sive, whom she sees as a useless freeloader and an affront to her experience of a woman's role in rural Irish life. Mena is also antagonized by Nanna, Sive's pipe-smoking grandmother who bemoans the lack of children for her to care for in her frail dotage and blames Mena for not producing. The plot kicks in with the arrival of seedy matchmaker Thomasheen Seán Rua, who comes with a proposal from elderly farmer Seán Dóta. Dóta has become entranced by the youthful energy and beauty of Sive, and offers two hundred pounds to Mena plus and a hundred to Thomasheen if a match can be arranged. Sive, who is in love with local boy Liam Scuab, is not pleased with the idea, but through a combination of bullying and psychological manipulation by Mena, she eventually acquiesces, all but breaking her spirit. The final act offers a glimmer of hope as an elopement is proposed through intermediaries including two wandering tinkers, but in this dark, oppressive, world where modern greed and ancient tradition conspire to destroy all hope of a progressive future, the outcome is never in doubt. The Ireland into which Sive was initially produced was itself a site of contestation between social and economic policies which were set to transform it from a pre-modern to a modern society and older, more atavistic forces bound by custom and obedience. The play was actually rejected by the Abbey for production on the professional stage, and thus began its life on the amateur circuit, where it toured to massive success and near-rioting in some places as audiences scrabbled to get tickets. Keane's scandalous, sexually-charged world where a beautiful young girl was essentially being "sold like an animal" to a grasping old man was at once familiar, and yet dramatically exaggerated. Keane, an avowed observer of real human lives, had a seemingly natural ability to combine realism and drama on a level equivalent with any of the masters of modern European theatre.

Plot Summary

The story is centered on a young eighteen year old girl called Sive who is illegitimate. She lives with her uncle Mike, his wife Mena and Nanna who is Mike's mother. A local matchmaker Thomasheen Sean Rua decides that Sive should marry an old man called Sean Dota. Sean is rich but old and haggard. Thamasheen convinces Mike and Mena to organize the marriage of Sive to Sean Dota. They will receive a sum of two hundred pounds as soon as she marries him.

Sive however is in love with a young man by the name of Liam Scuab. Liam however is not suitable as he is related to the man who abandoned Sive's mother when he realized that she was pregnant. Mike refuses permission for Liam to marry Sive on this account.

Sive is distraught but is forced to do the will of her uncle and his wife. Nanna does not approve and would prefer her to marry Liam. Two local tinkers by the name of Pats and his son Carthalawn connive together and decide to help her escape from Sean Dota and marry Liam. The plot fails however as Thomasheen discovers the letter and destroys it. On the night before her marriage Sive disappears and shortly afterwards her body is discovered in a bog hole. Liam finds the body and carries it in to the house announcing to Mena and her husband that they are responsible for her death. As Liam cries over the dead body Sean Dota and Thomasheen both leave the room. The play concludes with Pats and his son singing about a maiden who was drowned as she would not be a bride.

Genre

There are two different versions of 'Sive' -a two Act and a three Act play. The time span is roughly about three weeks in total. The dialogue in the play is filled with conflict and realism.

Cultural Context/Social Setting

The background of this play is Ireland in the fifties. It is a time of harsh poverty and people are measured in terms of the land and the crops they possess. There are many references to the fear of the poorhouse and the rough reality of poverty. Marriage and love are both seen in pragmatic terms in relation to the amount of possessions a person has. It is a time when matchmakers were popular and local trades flourished. The land is an important feature of the play.

General Vision or Viewpoint

The general vision or viewpoint of this play is somber and tragic. It seems inevitable from the outset that Sive will be forced to marry a man she does not love and who is years older than her. The overall impression of people reflected in the play is negative. Most of the main characters seem to spend their time exploiting others and simply using them to serve their own self-interest.

Theme or Issue

Love/Marriage In this play love and marriage are treated very negatively. Thomasheen who is supposed to be the local matchmaker and bring together people who love one another in marriage queries cynically to Mena 'what business have the likes of us with love? The whole notion of love and marriage becomes synonymous with selfishness and self-interest. Mena and Thoasheen are seen as two despicable characters who have no interest in anything else but serving their own interests and pockets. Both are governed by selfishness and see Sive's marriage to Sean Dota in terms of monetary interests and particularly monetary interest which will benefit themselves.

Women are shown to be strong characters but they are also shown in a negative light throughout the story. Both Mena and Nanna fight and insult one another in an abusive manner and both are seen to be embittered people in different ways. Nanna despises the fact that Mena has no children, while Mena sees the presence of Nanna in the house asæ a continuous source of irritation. Sive on the other hand is seen as a victim of the selfishness and self-interest of the people who should be helping her in life. At the conclusion in her tragic death we see the destruction of a beautiful young woman through the greed of other people.

Money/Poverty The question of money dominates almost every line of this play. Set against a backdrop of rural Ireland governed by poverty, this play depicts the tragic consequences on people of the need for money. The whole notion of marriage is seen in terms of money and as the character of Mena develops we see that she despises poverty. Sean Dota and Thomasheen the matchmaker turn out to be two despicable people who use money to wield power over people.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Man from the Mountains/Sive
From: GUEST,999
Date: 23 Dec 11 - 10:12 PM

Do I hear you about the memory going. But I think we've to worry when it gets better. It's then we'll recall Morag and talk about how lovely and kind she was. And it's then we'll realize neither of us knows anyone named Morag.


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