歌词
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
专辑信息