It is a hot, hot day
In the month of May
I’m experiencing Western glamor
In a lovely novel by Louis L’Amour
The hero is deadbeat in the desert heat
It’s even worse here on the Indian beat
I could shed a sympathetic and empathetic tear
Reading about a dry and dusty prickly pear
He’s trudging along without water now
I’m sweltering at home out of ice-cubes you know
He falls and stumbles and rises and never gives up
I pace and grumble and moan and sluice myself with water in a cup
He survives and gets the bad guys in the end
The electricity department gets the better of me at every bend
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