Every day, to earn my daily bread I go to the market where lies are bought Hopefully I take up my place among the sellers.
Life is like a bowl of old bread.
Thus Angels' Bread is made The Bread of man today: The Living Bread from Heaven With figures doth away: O wondrous gift indeed! The poor and lowly may Upon their Lord and Master feed.
I'm bidding you a long farewell, My Mary, kind and true, But I'll not forget you, darling, In the land I'm going to. They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there; But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair.
Burn bread every day boy, no toaster.
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