Time Was Away And Somewhere Else, There

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?

None Of Our Hearts Are Pure, We Always Have Mixed Motives. Are Self Deceivers, But The Worst Of All Deceits Is To Murmur 'lord, I Am Not Worthy' And, Lying Easy, Turn Your Face To The Wall.

Better Authentic Mammon Than A Bogus God.

Politics: Distrust All Parties But Consider Capitalism Must Go.

Down The Road Someone Is Practicing Scales, The Notes Like Little Fishes Vanish With A Wink Of Tails