Voters of : Harold Finch: [Finch is at a wedding, with the pretense of being an estranged uncle from Ireland. At the wedding reception, he is brought onstage, and asked to sing with his- "Uncle Ralph's"- renowned voice. Finch faces the waiting audience and is petrified. He speaks, with an Irish accent... ] Does no one remember that I suffer from stage fright? Will O'Brien: [the groom says to the audience] Just being modest, Uncle Ralph! Harold Finch: Uh... Will O'Brien: A little liquid courage will cure that. [Pushes a glass of liquor into Finch's hand]' Don't be nervous, just sing, whatever comes to mind. Harold Finch: Good lad. Cheers. [Finch downs the whole glass. Long silence. The audience looks on] Um.. [Approaches the mic. Long silence. He haltingly starts to speak lyrics, with the cadence of an Irish protest song - the actual song's original melody is unrecognizable] We've got the right to choose it. / And / there ain't no way we'll lose it. / This is our life, this is our song. // We'll fight the powers that be, just / don't pick our destiny, 'cause / you don't know us. You don't belong. Root: [whispers to Reese] How come Harry never sings to us? John Reese: He doesn't sing to you? Harold Finch: [the chorus] We're not gonna take it / No, we ain't gonna take it / We're not gonna take it anymore.