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The highlands and the lowlands are the routes my father knows, the holidays at |
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Oban and the towns around |
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Montrose, but even as he sleeps, they're loading bombs into the hills, and the waters in the lochs can run deep, but never still. |
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I've thought of having children, but |
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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, to cast your eye cross nature, over fields of rape and corn, 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 |
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I heard Caruso sing. |
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He's almost as good as |
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Presley, and if |
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I only do one thing, |
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I'll sing songs to my father, |
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I'll sing songs to my child. |
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It's time to hold your loved ones while the chains are loose, 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. |
