I Am Not Yet Born; O Fill

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?

You Know The Worst: Your Wills Are Fickle, Your Values Blurred, Your Hearts Impure And Your Past Life A Ruined Church-- But Let Your Poison Be Your Cure.

It's No Go The Merry-go-round, It's No Go The Rickshaw All We Want Is A Limousine And A Ticket For The Peepshow.

I Am Not Yet Born; Forgive Me For The Sins That In Me The World Shall Commit, My Words When They Speak Me, My Thoughts When They Think Me, My Treason Engendered By Traitors Beyound Me, My Life When They Murder By Means Of My Hands, My Death When They Live Me.

World Is Crazier And More Of It Than We Think, Incorrigibly Plural. I Peel And Portion A Tangerine And Spit The Pips And Feel The Drunkenness Of Things Being Various.