take a drive to where the ships leave.
go straight through, fly right by,
always listening, always listening.
there it is now, can you hear it?

there’s a noise that this place makes.
it’s a low hum that sticks in your head
and it never quite rises
but it stays with you till you are dead.
there’s a woman who lives here
says the migraines drive her half insane.
‘yeah,’ i say, ‘i have always felt that way.
that’s why I keep moving.’

i grew up here but i didn’t hear
until i grew up; now i can’t shut my ears.
all these people never knowing it.
do the churches know? does the parliament know?

i’m sorry darling, i was in love with you.
you tore my heart apart but i’m not angry now.
you have a nice house, you have a nice life.
i lost my innocence, the world revealed itself.

if you sit at the water’s edge
and you stare out into the abyss
you will find yourself listening,
you will find your hand forming a fist.
it creeps up on you slowly.
some say government, some say it’s god.
i can’t tell, i just know it feels like hell.

this one time the noise stops.
a village appears as the mist clears.
i am so scared i have to drive away much faster than before.

my head is full but my heart is empty.
i don’t think that anyone i meet can save me
from thoughts like: ‘largs hum is louder and higher.
i know too much, someone wants me dead.’
if i just keep driving i’ll be fine.
i feel sure the answer’s round the next bend.