I\'ll try again to face the day
but, Lord, I know what I will say
when, in the broiling mid-day sun,
the needle points to 1-1-1.
Please get me out of here!
Tomorrow, if the word is true,
the dial will tell us 1-1-2.
Each day a slow but steady rise,
so I will shout into the skies:
\"Ok, I\'ve had enough!\"
But there\'s no end in sight, you see.
Next Friday\'s temp is 1-1-3.
And Saturday is 1-1-4.
I cannot take it any more!
I think I\'ll book a cruise.
As time goes by and my years pass,
I\'ve come to understand at last
that I\'m not suited for this heat.
I need to live where I can greet
a cool, refreshing dawn.
Vermont, Fargo, Saskatchewan?
I\'ll flip a coin and pick the one
that boasts of cooler summer days.
Who needs these brutal burning rays?
But here I am today.
It\'s 8 a.m. My day is done.
No biking, hiking, morning run.
It\'s 93 and rising fast.
The bet is on that I can\'t last
beyond a week or two.
Dear God, who makes the good earth spin,
would I be guilty of a sin
if in these hot, oppressive days
I turned my heat distorted gaze
to good old Boreas?
(Boreas: In Greek mythology, the god of the north wind and cold weather)