Blind Wantons Like The Gulls Who Scream

A City Built Upon Mud; A Culture Built Upon Profit; Free Speech Nipped In The Bud, The Minority Always Guilty. Why Should I Want To Go Back To You, Ireland, My Ireland?

A Pharaoh's Profile, A Krishna's Grace, Tail Like A Question Mark.

I Am Not Yet Born; O Hear Me. Let Not The Bloodsucking Bat Or The Rat Or The Stoat Or The Club-footed Ghoul Come Near Me.

Blind Wantons Like The Gulls Who Scream And Rip The Edge Off Any Ideal Or Dream.

Let Them Not Make Me A Stone And Let Them Not Spill Me, Otherwise Kill Me.