An Irishman Needs Three Things

He Drew Forth A Phrase From His Treasure And Spoke It Softly To Himself: A Day Of Dappled Seaborne Clouds.

By His Monstrous Way Of Life He Seemed To Have Put Himself Beyond The Limits Of Reality. Nothing Moved Him Or Spoke To Him From The Real World Unless He Heard It In An Echo Of The Infuriated Cries Within Him.

Interpretations Of Interpretations Interpreted.

Satan, Really, Is The Romantic Youth Of Jesus Re-appearing For A Moment.

Redheaded Women Buck Like Goats.