The highlands and the lowlands are the routes my father knows,
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The holidays at Oban and the towns around Montrose,
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But even as he sleeps, they're loading bombs into the hills,
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And the waters in the lochs can run deep, but never still.
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I've thought of having children, but I've gone and changed my mind.
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It's hard enough to watch the news, let alone explain it to a child,
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To cast your eye cross nature, over fields of rape and corn,
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And tell him without flinching not to fear where he's been born.
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Then someone sat me down last night, and I heard Caruso sing.
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He's almost as good as Presley, and if I only do one thing,
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I'll sing songs to my father, I'll sing songs to my child.
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It's time to hold your loved ones while the chains are loose,
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And the world runs wild.
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But even as we speak, they're loading bombs onto a white train.
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How can we afford to ever sleep, so sound again.
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The Night I Heard Caruso Sing
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| Everything But The Girl |
