there´s a man
whose arms are twisted round the vines
looking out for her to show
but she´s late
the sound of the crickets all around
in the heat

in the heat
they say you´ll sell your body to the heat

so he takes his muslin bag
to the well
runs his fingers through his hair
he´s unwell
then the sea comes into view
and he moves downhill
meets his car down by the bay
drives away

chorus

come on now - gotta take it in your stride...
well a fugitive can run but he can´t hide

nothing happens in the town
nothing moves
a lone mosquito settles down
on a shoe