Fuelled by oil stored in me, Pilots might do a roll of me, To avoid a bullet shot out of me. People might play with monkeys released from me, Or drink far too much ale stored within me, And the next day feel that they'd scraped the bottom of me

I can be a very violent action, or the most epic social event. However, if you add three to me, I become endearingly shy.

M'i knaimg farskeabt, owh od uyo klei oruy sgeg?

I am vast, yet never enough. Between words and worlds, I part.

In the land o' rainbows and pots of gold, I bind what’s loose with a metallic hold. A clatter o' teeth, a magical seam, I’m the luck o' the Irish on a winter coat’s scheme.