<< The Night I Heard Caruso Sing >>
— Everything But The Girl
The highlands and the lowlands are the roots my father knows, the holidays
at Oban and the towns around 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.
I’ve thought of having children but I’ve gone and changed my mind – 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.
Then someone sat me down last night and I heard Caruso sing. He’s almost as
good as Presley, and if I only do one thing I’ll sing songs to my father,
I’ll sing songs to my child it’s time to hold your loved ones while the
chains are loosed and the world runs wild.
And even as we speak, they’re loading bombs onto a white train. How can we
afford to ever sleep so sound again?
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