Black Out — текст песни (Pavement)

Sunday driving past your own hall of fame

Its closed on weekdays, shut for good

Pick out no one when youre 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 criminals 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 youre 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)

(its gonna set you free)