Come to me in the cool of a cotton dress,
Billowed sheer in the sun is the fit that's best,
Do the crossword waiting on a train,
Raise the paper high to summer rain.

Come to me in the wind-swept hollow, Sunday morning start,
Climb into the taxi I'll arrange,
Come with all the sweetness I have harbored in my heart,
Let me know that sometimes things can change.

Come to me when my spirit's in a mess,
With your balmy humour's heat and a cotton dress,
In eagerness I'm waiting at my gate
And even lateness I will tolerate.

Come to me when February's faded springtime into March,
Let me know the wonderments you've had,
Come to me whose thirst so desperate lingers to be parched,
Show me that things cannot be so bad.

And if the train lets you down, as trains are p___e to,
Have no fear, darling, think it through...

You could come to me in the rust of an old sedan,
Quite low key, honey, just as you had planned,
The house is big and the rooms are seldom full,
You just wear that dress woven wild with slavery's wool,

So come to me, darling, quickly as you can,
For man needs woman and I hope you need this man,
Come to me in the cool of a cotton dress,
Billowed sheer in the sun is the fit that's best.

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