Flies come and go through the open door,
Tennis balls plop beyond the trees.
They say the sun is baking the city,
But here it’s green and cool with a breeze.

On the Lido it was really hot;
In Lusaka the heat oppressed like lead;
A warthog ran out on the road in Zimbabwe,
The sun beat down, the impala fled.

I crept through hollyhocks for shelter,
A chateau offered a strip of shade,
A coyote died in the thornbush desert,
Through rivers of heat in Plovdiv I’d wade.

But hotter still is the fire when they bring
My corpse to the crem – and I shan’t feel a thing!