An Irishman Needs Three Things : Silence,

Terence O'ryan Heard Him And Straightway Brought Him A Crystal Cup Full Of The Foaming Ebon Ale Which The Noble Twin Brothers Bungiveagh And Bungardilaun Brew Ever In Their Divine Alevats, Cunning As The Sons Of Deathless Leda. For They Garner The Succulent Berries Of The Hop And Mass And Sift And Bruise And Brew Them And They Mix Therewith Sour Juices And Bring The Must To The Sacred Fire And Cease Not Night Or Day From Their Toil, Those Cunning Brothers, Lords Of The Vat.

The Voices Blend And Fuse In Clouded Silence: Silence That Is Infinite Of Space: And Swiftly, Silently The Sound Is Wafted Over Regions Of Cycles Of Cycles Of Generations That Have Lived.

My Heart Is Quite Calm Now. I Will Go Back.

His Heart Danced Upon Her Movement Like A Cork Upon A Tide.

When I Makes Tea I Makes Tea, As Old Mother Grogan Said. And When I Makes Water I Makes Water.