Time at last to disown the Emerald Isle,
St. Patrick. Time to let the snakes return
And lead the traitor multitudes to burn.
Abandonment, I know, is not your style—
But those that you converted weren’t this vile.
For soullessness they didn’t really yearn.
Upon their faces you could well discern
Loftier aspirations all the while.
Not these. They’re thinking only of their groins.
Orgasm is the god that they adore—
And not fertility. Two-sided coins
Bear reverse sides – but, in this giant’s store
Of treasure, there is nothing but thrilled loins.
The snakes themselves disdain this pimp, this whore.