Eliza Cluain Meala Whore ❤️

About Drogheda

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

The goal Of Cluain Meala, lyrics and guitar chords

As the day winds down, I’m packing up my stuff. The sun’s setting over the hills, and it’s kinda magical. I think about how Cluain-Meala’s got its quirks. The streets, the people, the random stuff that happens. It’s chaotic, but it’s home.

Clonmel Town Team leader is confident the Tipperary capital can prosper