Down The Road Someone Is

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.

I Am Not Yet Born; O Fill Me With Strength Against Those Who Would Freeze My Humanity, Would Dragoon Me Into A Lethal Automaton Would Make Me A Cog In A Machine, A Thing With One Face, A Thing

Why Do We Like Being Irish? Partly Because It Gives Us A Hold On The Sentimental English As Members Of A World That Never Was, Baptized With Fairy Water

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

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