Waiting upstate in the pines

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