Kamaskera Hermits Year, July

Donald says the sun's gone wrang
It hasnae moved for far too lang
The peat won't catch, the milk's gone warm
And sixty spuggies seek the barn

Too hot for the Highlands, too hot for the hill
Too hot for a man that was built for the chill
He's opened the windae, he's shut it again
Too hot for the flies and too hot for the rain

He's standing in the burn knee-deep
His boots are on the bank in a heap
The kettle boils but whit's the use
When tea's the temperature of the loch's own juice

Too hot for the Highlands, too hot for the hill
Too hot for a man that was built for the chill
He's opened the windae, he's shut it again
Too hot for the flies and too hot for the rain

But evening comes and the light turns gold
The hills go purple, the air turns cold
And Donald sits wi' his door flung wide
Aye, that's mair like it," the hermit sighs

Too hot for the Highlands, too hot for the hill
Too hot for a man that was built for the chill
But the evening's kind, and the stars come still
And there's worse things than summer on Donald's hill