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The highlands and the lowlands |
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Are the roots my father knows |
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The holidays at Oban |
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And the towns around Montrose |
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But even as he sleeps |
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They're loading bombs into the hills |
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And the waters in the lochs |
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Can run deep but never still |
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I've thought of having children |
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But I've gone and changed my mind |
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It's hard enough to watch the news |
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Let alone explain it to a child |
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To cast your eye 'cross nature |
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Over fields of rape and corn |
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And tell him without flinching |
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Not to fear where he's been born |
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Then someone sat me down last night |
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And I heard Caruso sing |
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He's almost as good as Presley |
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And if 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 |
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While the chains are loosed and the world |
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Runs wild |
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And even as we speak |
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They're loading bombs onto a white train |
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How can we afford to ever sleep |
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So sound again |