Текст: Crowded House. Temple Of Low Men. In The Lowlands.

Out here in panic and alarm
Black shapes gather in the distance

The first drops land on the window
The first sign that there's something wrong

Which way, which way
Two days till I get to you

Where I go there'll be no kind welcome
Coming down upon me

Feel my face
Now the insects swarm

Fear will take the place of desire
And we will fan the flames on high

The sky fell underneath a blanket
The sun sank as the miles went by

When you remember it makes you cry
Ghost cars on the freeway

One by one they are disappearing
Time will keep me warm

Now the insects swarm
In the lowlands

And we will fan the flames on high