Black Out
sunday drive,
Passed (past)
your own hall of fame
it's closed on weekdays
shut for good
pick out no one when your talking
felt (thoughts) like rattlesnakes were walkin
no one has a clue
the parted (party's) shots
the thin caught fault line
dancin across the frigid air shafts (shacks)
a spaztic grass (rats)
a criminal's child (chats)
count to ten
and read
until
the lights begin to bleed
light
until you actually begin to see the rays
and your thoughts they start to turn and
tells you lessons that you're learnin
no one has a clue
Fugazi thoughts of the 30 scots
(the gauzy thoughts of the sturdy scots)
wrestling with the elements
up on the trail
high
I need to know
where does it go
how do I get there and
what will I find
fun fun fun, fun for the summertime blues
(it's gonna set you)
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