A Blast From The Old Gaelic Bard.

My words are not for you,

not for the likes of you,

with your scowling face

and your hard stare,

with your straight mouth

and your sneering tongue,

with your closed mind

shut tight as a fist.

Indeed, I am almost tempted,

almost tempted to wish

that your kind were all blind,

that my words, saving these,

might escape your foul eyes.

Spréach Ón Sean Bhfile Gaelach.

NÍ duitse atá mo focail,

ní duitse nó do leitheid,

tusa le d'aghaidh feargach

agus do cuma crua,

le do bhéal díreach

agus do theanga searbh,

le do intinn dhúnta

comh daingean le dorn.

Cinnte, tá mé i mbaol,

beagnach i mbaol a bheith ag lorg

go mbeidh do chinéal go léir dall,

agus mo focail, seachais na cinn seo,

i bhfolach o do shúile lofa.