It's hot as hell, my feet begin to swell, the heat makes me unwell, and I can hardly tell, if I'm melting in my garden, or trapped in some hot cell.
The sun is on a mission, it's cooking me quite well, my forehead's like a waterfall, my armpits ring a bell. The dog won't chase a tennis ball, the cat won't even yell, the birds have stopped their singing, they've all gone off to dwell.
I opened up the freezer, and stood there for a spell, my wife walked in and shook her head, "You're not doing well!"
I dream about an iceberg, a fan, a breeze, a shell, but all I've got is sunshine and a sweaty, sticky smell.
So if you need to find me, there's really not much to tell, I'll be lying on the kitchen floor... because it's hot as hell!
No comments:
Post a Comment