The highlands and the lowlands are the routes my father knows
the holidays at Oban and the towns around Montrose
but even as he sleepsthey re loading bombs into the hills
and the waters in the lochs can run deepbut never still.
I ve thought of having childrenbut I ve gone and changed my mind.
It s hard enough to watch the newslet alone explain it to a child
to cast your eye cross natureover fields of rape and corn
and tell him without flinching not to fear where he s been born.
Then someone sat me down last nightand I heard Caruso sing.
He s almost as good as Presleyand if I only do one thing
I ll sing songs to my fatherI ll sing songs to my child.
It s time to hold your loved ones while the chains are loose
and the world runs wild.
But even as we speakthey re loading bombs onto a white train.
How can we afford to ever sleepso sound again.

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