Sun streaking her blond hair
And I watch
She doesn't seem to care
That I watch.

It's getting hot out here
Must be a hundred degrees
For the things that should be clear
Are over-run with hazies.

And she is golden
With the rays of the sun
And she will brighten
The path to freedom.

I can fall in love
With her and her way
It's her I can think of
Until my very last dying day.

For that is her
And she doesn't mind
The woman of the sunny weather
Who might or might not be so kind.