| 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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