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).