Roma next presents us with yet more words of divine medaphysical wisdom:

 “You know love is everything you say”

Yes, Miss Beguiled, “love” is everything you say – I have noticed that, and so indeed did Roma, who also watches over lost and homeless studnuts, cats, dogs and chipmunks. In fact, all you ever say, Miss Beguiled, is “love, love, love” and “love is all you need”. I strongly suspect you have been taking music history with Brother Beetle Stone and can’t get no satisfaction. But this comment might cause me to digress, so I will ungress right now!

So ponderous-on we must: “LOVE” is everything you say. So, Miss Ardent, when you tell Master Card to buzz off, you REALLY mean you’d like him to come home for a wiener roast and meet your parents. And you, Miss Rhine, when you tell your feline Czar to be quiet and stop scratching the furniture, you really mean it’s time for hugs and IAMS. And IAM not at all surprised at that.

So, classh, when you speak out, especially in pubic, remember that Love infuses everything you say, and watch your tongues (which can in fact be difficult to do unless, like Brother Yogi, you can twist and shout at the same time).

Our next line then intrudes:

 “A whisper, a word, promises you give”

A whisper!  Ah, whispers: things we say quietly, like Mother Superioriosa when afflicted with Larry Gitis, the studnut voted most likely to reduce the entire faculty to vows of silence. But, if everything we say is, indeed, LOVE, then even whispers are loverly, as long as one has their hearing aide turned on and up.

A word! Yes, but WHAT word, I hear Master Card ask under his breath as his eyes close. Well, as Brother Beetle Stone oft says, “say the Word,” for the Word is Love! And Love will set you free, except from taxes and parking tickets. Oh my my! Is that my car that lovely Rita the Meter Reader is now ticketing if you look out the window instead of napping, studnuts? Rita is such a hard worker -- she used to be a Centimeter Reader but got promoted, as I hope you will also be some day, shortly.

 “promises you give” – What Roma is telling us here is that promises arise out of Love. If Mother Superioriosa promises me a raise, then she loves me, but she loves me not when she threatens to exterminate my contract. So, when you make a promise, you just love doing it, even if you don’t intend to keep it, but rather to give it away to the poor and nerdy. Miss Understood, please promise to at least try to pay attention – your snoring just retracted Miss Representation!

 “You feel it in the heartbeat of the day”

Aha! Roma returns to her medaphysical peas and carotids. The DAY is alive, and its heartbeat can be felt as soon as the sun pokes up out of the darkness to wave at us as we stagger out of bed after the night before, when ………..oops, another digression budding there, better nip it fast.

Listen to the day outside, classh; can you hear its Raging THUMP THUMP THUMP? No? Well, TRY AGAIN!! And also look beyond the window and you’ll see Lacey Days, one of our less famous dropouts. Lacey is wearing a stegosaurus scope in case a dinosaur calls 911. But I digress: Roma is not Lacey at all, and herein tells us, beyond a reasonable doubt and beyond the blue horizon, that we must live each day along with each day. You see, studnuts, how symbiotic this all is, don’t you?

Then the stanza reaches a climax:

 “You know this is the way love is.”

In a rondo-bout way, Roma inculcates in us the Circle of Life. Master Piece, please stop humming “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” or you’ll have to go report to the orifice.

Love is everything and everywhere – and it manifestos itself in various formats: CD-ROM, MP3 and DVD included (but NOT Region 1, of course). And you just KNOW the way love is as we are all born with this knowledge implanted in our umbrellical chords in case of a Day with Rain.

Aha! Now we come to a most complex part of the poem, and I’d like everyone to get up and form a line. You see, classh, we shall expunge upon the CHORUS of our enigmatic, medaphysical masterpiece by RR, also known as R2/D2, while also fulfilling our daily requirement of ten minutes of physical proclivity. So we need our own chorus line. Now put your hands on each other’s shoulders and start kicking in unicorn as I play the score from “Chicago.” Yes, Miss Taken, I do indeed KNOW what the score is in Chicago: 6-2.

And, you – little kid in a cat suit with a tape-worm -- will take the video of this chorusographic event since you seem to have a hidden video camera next to your hidden tape recorder – you really do need to brush up on your surveillance techniques before your next fur ball.

All together now, high kicking!!! 1, 2, 3, 4 – 1,2, 3, 4….. Miss Stepping, please be more careful, you almost knocked Miss Ery down with a left to the jaw. And we need her to play the sexyphone at our school hymn sing, which will immediately follow this classh.

Now, wasn’t that befreshing, studnuts? Yes, please resume your seats as we disgust these immoral lines:

“Amarantine

Amarantine

Amarantine

Love is

Love is

Love”

Brilliant indeed, and in these sad economic times very thrifty of words, but, classh, what does this MEAN? Yes, Master Tape?

 “I think this chorus is never-ending, like a never-fading flower or classhes with Sister Windy. The chorus means that love is never having to say you’re finished.”

Now, isn’t that very deep, studnuts? Yes, I agree: as deep as Miss Cook’s lunch bucket. From which some foul odour is now emanating….

Over to you, Miss Rhine.

 “I think Roma is here drawing upon the never-ending words of Gertrude O’Stein:

Gertrude O’Stein

Gertrude O’Stein

Gertrude O’Stein

Rose is rose is rose…

thus flaunting us with her in-depth knowledge of Irish poets.”

How imaginary, and how demonstrative of your deep affliction for literary delusions. Yes, I do think you are right: Gertrude and Rose were very close friends, a most thorny relationship.

Now, how about you, little girl in a cat suit? What do you think?

“Based on my personal introspection of these verses, I suggest they are pregnant with hidden meaning, which will be made clear in about 9 human months. As a fixed being myself, I find it pungent that Our Lady of Loxia becomes fixated on LOVE, to the point where she cannot even bring herself to finish a sentence. What IS Love? She cannot complete the santa clause, but, instead, leaves us with a clinging affirmation that Love simply IS, and IS whatever we say it IS, thus procuring her kinship with the Sophists of Ancient Grease – The Musical.”

My, my, out of the mouths of very weird babes comes such amazing insight! I am almost at a loss for words, but not quite, for we still have two stanzas to decimate:

You know love may sometimes make you cry,

Yes, love hurts, just ask any Country & Western singer, and when we hurt we often cry, but WHY does love have to hurt, ah that’s the rubber ducky! But can you remember what Roma said earlier about Love opening your heart? You can, Miss Spent – well bully for you, that makes two of us!

Indeed, classh, here Roma returns to her basical medicinal medaphysical theme: to open your heart has got to HURT a great deal, especially without anesthetics – no wonder you may cry! And once it’s open who knows what germs could invade? Only time. Perhaps an embolism will creep in, or the Secret Service may plant a chip in the aorta. Or a tiny alien, much like Miss OperaKait, might squirm in there! There’s more than enough right there to cry about.

But what should you do if love makes you cry?

so let the tears go,

Ah yes, the “go with the flow” philosophy that Roma so endorsates. The tears are going to arise out of your hurt (well, actually, out of your eyes but I so dislike being pedantic), and there is no point at all in building a dam on your cheek – besides it makes you look very weird. Just let them flow away, flow away, flow away….for, as Roma well knows:

they will flow away,

You see, studnuts, there is no choice here: it has been predestined that these tears will flow away, even before you were born. Otherwise the salted sea would dry out (rather like Brother AA), and floating would become almost impossible for those like Mother Superioriosa.

And, as Ed the Pus found out, you cannot change your fate. So be careful who you date! Ha, a po-em!!! Roma bless me.

But Roma now places before our thirsty minds this thought:

for you know love will always let you fly

Fly! The power of Love – just ask Feline Dion about that! If only we could persuade Jumbo the Jet to fly away using Love Power, why, our carbon footprints would shrink to tiny tiny dots. And note the “always” here – Roma is inculcating that love is a never-ending power, and also one that will never go on strike like Aer Lingus.

Of course, do use the seatbelt in case of unexpecting turbulence, mostly the byproduct of airline food (which I call an oxymoron myself). No, Master Ship, I was not calling anyone a bad name; please consult a dictionary.

-how far a heart can fly away!

Well, this depends on its mass and speed, of course, as told us by Einstein’s Theory of Relatives, and most of his relatives were dense and slow. Perhaps we need an experiment to determinate how far a heart actually CAN fly, but then we would have to have a heart…..hmmmmm, perhaps we could get one that perspired after being opened by love!!

Miss Calculated, please speak with Brother Post Mortem after class regarding this heart of the matter.

Well, then we have the Chorus again, but I think we can skip over it as you are all still so tired from the first one. But did you know that the Ancient Greeks invented the chorus? Then the Romans adopted it, and finally Roma, descending from Romans as she is, adopts it here. What an amazing lineage, studnuts!

And so, Miss Placed, we come to the conclusion of this very complex, medaphysical tale, the time when Roma will overwhelm us with her imagination and make us swoon with jealous seas.

You know when love's shining in your eyes

You certainly do, for that’s another time when love hurts. Always wear sunglasses in Ireland, as Dr. Bono states.

Yes, Miss OperaKait at the back of the room? Indeed, you are correct (as always, I fear): Enya is also a doctor, in fact she’s TWO doctors! Roma even consults her when warts or John Bunyans arise. And Enya does indeed wear sunglasses, very large ones in fact, always ready for a Day without Rain.

Now, at last, Roma delivers her infamous “el shocko” ending to the song:

it may be the stars

fallen from above.

The sky is falling, the sky is falling!! Oh dear, excuse me, I seem to have gotten carried away there. You see, I have “celestial objective collapsia” phobia, and have night and day mares about being hit on the noggin by a falling star, but I regress.

What a shocking image, clearly designed to wake up napping studnuts! And I note that Master Bed is now indeed back with us.

Into our ode to ever-lasting love comes an injection of doom and destruction. But be not afraid: note that Roma says “may be” – thus creating the required loophole in a black hole in a dark galaxy far far away. It “may be the stars falling” but, then again, it could be just the same old boring Irish rain. Or Canadian ice pellets – my favourite obstacle icicle course. Let us hope that Roma continues to hang the sky with stars, using SuperNova Glue ™.

And you know love is with you when you rise,

Now, this happens a lot to married people, which none of us here happen to be: they wake up each morning with a jerk, only to find their spouse lying there, right next to them. Some people even know this before they rise, as their beloved had been loudly snoring all through the night.

But, methinks, Roma is here being more medaphorical: it is the emotion of love, the power of love, the pain of love that are with us constipatedly, and so we now may exlax. The sky will not fall tonight, but the morning may be horrendous or wonderful – so much depends on how God rolls the daily dice.

for night and day belong to love.

As we read in the Good Book, classh, God is Love and Love is God. In fact, those pesky Greeks and Romans made Love a God: the Greeks, being erotically inclined, called him Eros; the Romans, being so much more practical, turned the Love God into a handy tool called the Q-Pid.

Yes, Miss Forsaken, Love holds sway over everything – night, day, summer, winter, spring, fall, chipmunks and cats, football teams, composers and singers included. This is why the Greeks and Romans were always nice to Love; there is nothing worse than a sour Love God with weapons of mass destruction.

Well, my dears, I am now truly Bushed, and must bring our lesion to the recovery room. In fact, Brother Prattle is waiting for me there – we have reserved a sweet for a few stolen moments of eating candy while drinking Pepto-Brennan ™, to celibate the end of this interminable term. But I do hope I leave you in shock and awe at how brilliantly Roma has concocted this song, how complex and astringent it is, taking us on a journey deep into the thumping heart of Mighty Love. If you cannot understand this journey, please Try Again.

Ta!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!