crois-dhearg air eiginn

Bhuannaich sgioba na Pap am ball-coise an-diugh, agus mar sin, tha mi cho bronach, nach urrainn dhomh cail a sgriobhadh, ach seo;

Sodomy leads to disenchantment
The only beauty is in a bird
Her hair and chest promote a vision
Or confuse the things I've heard
If true love lies in promiscuity
Where did I go so wrong
My solitary longing decomposes
Too just to be strung along
But lately I've been wrong in thinking
That hope lies in the fickler sex
There is no hope I tell myself
Just to prove I have effects
On those who traipse around my body
Like dustflies on a mouldy corpse
I can't remember when I lived
The heathen moorlands full of gorse
Are where I lost my link with love
And any mind I may have had
In truth I am a bumpkin brutal
A bewildered, blundering, brain-dead lad
For although my thoughts are rarely spoken
My heart spills over with the same
A reminiscence of the time I wanted
To think for once, and then again
But now the dearth of feeling closes
My hands are severed from her hands
And any life inside my hull
Will be triggered by some other land
Without the nightmare fast approaching
Of concrete, tar and lungs like pitch
I'll settle down and make a wife
With my smooth, invisible, lustful bitch.

Ah mo chreach, tha mi cho sgith. Ach choimhead mi Stat An Lios an-diugh agus Dearrsadh Greine Siorraidh na h-Inntinne gun Smal an-de, agus bha iad math, ach bha Dearrsadh na b'fhearr, nam thomhais co-dhiu. Chi mi Di-Luain sibh!