Sunday driving past your own hall of fame
It's closed on weekdays shut for good

Pick out no one when you're talkin'

Felt like rattlesnakes were walkin'

No one has a clue
The parting shots the thin caught
Fault line dancing across the frigid air shafts

A spastic grass a criminal's child

Count to ten and read

Until the lights begin to bleed

Lights til you actually a see the rays
And your thoughts they start turning

Tells you lessons that you're learning

No one has a clue

The gauzy thoughts of those dirty scots
Wrestling with the elements up on the trail high

I need to know

Where does it go How do I get there What will I find

Fun fun fun fun for the summertime blues

It's gonna set you free