I here the pipes from Martindale
And wonder what they meant
Cause in the air I hear a sound
That clings like fragrant scent

It gets into the dryer
That beats like Jamaican drums
And rises in the coffee steam
Picked from Kenyan thumbs

I cannot run
I cannot hide
The mist clings to my cheek
And warms the Resiling deep inside
What is it that I seek?

Through the gums and creeks
I chase away
And the rain beats on my door
Throught the hills and vines
I try to run
And the fog rises once more

I cannot see the road in front
Or but 10 feet behind
Just craggy monsters with thin arms
Hiding in the vines

They stretch along forever
Surround me in brown earth
Hands all linked together
Forever in a girth

I cannot run
I cannot hide
The mist clings to my cheek
And warms the Reisling deep inside
What is it that I seek?

Through the gums and creeks
I chase away
And the rain beats on my door
Through the hills and vines
I try to run
And the fog rises once more.