There's a heathaze in the air, there's dust on the ground,
And the eagles circle the whitewashed town.
At the sign of the cross on the granite tower,
Where the church bell sounds the midday hour.
There's a lizard on the wall,
There's a girl in the square.
Dreaming of the ocean and a breeze in her hair.
There's a heatwave coming and it's coming today,
There's a heatwave coming and it's coming to stay.
The priest and the pauper hiding from the day,
Playing blackjack in the cellar for next week's pay.
Where the only liquid thing is time itself,
Slipping slowly down the walls from the barroom shelf.