Twenty-seven Centigrade,
better find a little shade
dying in the Sun,
turning slightly brown,
think
I'm too well done
that's alright
with me, it's
time for tea.

Eighty-two in Fahrenheit
head's getting to be so light
floating far away, it's
what a Summer day was sent
to me for.

If I close one eye and I pray,
I might conjure up another beautiful day.

Mercury,
I know that you dream of me,
the temperatures rising, it's
hardly surprising.