and my clothes were damp and dank
not a breath of wind was stirring
while the drains beside me stank
Just a plaintive throaty warbling
ahigh the pong pong tree
the dry season's come a'calling
for the bird as much for me
The fumy buses passing
by the shelter where I stand
I wave in desperation
with make shift fan in hand
The dry seasons come a'calling
to the Queenstown MRT
I stand upon the platform
just my plastic card
and me
