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
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