| All the homes on the globe
|
| Are like television in your eyes
|
| A cross guarding your heart
|
| The living years a sacrifice
|
| A shiver at the door in the night
|
| Clouds cross a black moonlight
|
| Rushing on down to the
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| Sound of a turning world
|
| There’s a south by sou’westerly
|
| Force eight coming in strong
|
| Across the continental shelf
|
| From the cold grey Malin beyond
|
| Oh the need to keep control
|
| The need to stand alone
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| The adrenaline infrastructure
|
| Bringing on its troubles some more
|
| All the laws of the jungle
|
| Stranded on your latest shore
|
| But the waves hold the healer force
|
| The years disappear like a ghost
|
| Somewhere out of sight
|
| Of the night and the light of day
|
| Now civilisation groans
|
| And the newsreel cries
|
| Like a drowning man
|
| His life in front of his eyes
|
| Oh the need to keep control
|
| The need to bare the soul
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| And the man from St. Kilda
|
| Went over the cliff on a winter’s day
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| At the edge of the world
|
| At the edge of the world |