World Is Crazier And More Of It

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?

All That I Would Like To Be Is Human, Having A Share In A Civilized, Articulate And Well-adjusted Community Where The Mind Is Given Its Due But The Body Is Not Distrusted

The Sunlight On The Garden Hardens And Grows Cold, We Cannot Cage The Minute Within Its Nets Of Gold

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.

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.