Driving home along the bog road at night in the rain
Leaving the village behind me, its harbour lights
Making a marquee of the sea,
I am half sunk by the stone in my heart.

Mile after mile of bog road in the night in the rain,
Not a single dwelling on the mountain either side of the road,
Not knowing when a mountain sheep will light up under my wheels,
My audience all couples canoodling behind in the village.

But when I drive up to my maroon-painted five-barred gate
And switch off my lights, and climb out of my car,
And I can see nothing, and I can hear nothing,
I see again that home is the skirl of silence.

I kiss the darkness, and all loneliness abandons me.
A life without a wife is nothing to boast about
But that's music. I walk back up the road
Kissing the darkness; and a small mouth of cold gold
In the clouds is becoming aware of its soul.