| She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue
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| And she locked the car and slipped past
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| Into rhythmic quietude
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| Lights burning
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| Voice dry and hoarse
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| I threw the screen door like a bastard back and forth
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| The chimes fell over each other
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| I fell onto my knees
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| The sound of the car driving off made me feel diseased
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| A sick shouting like you hear at the fairground
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| Now I’m picking up to put away anything of yours that’s still around
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| I don’t know what to do with your clothes or your letters
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| It’ll make a whisper out of you
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| She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue
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| The fairground’s lit
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| A drunk man sits by the gate she’s driving through
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| Got his hat tipped bottle back in between his teeth
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| Looks like he’s buried in the sand at the beach
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| I can’t think about you driving off to leave barely awake
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| To take a little nap while the road is straight
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| I wish that car had never been discovered
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| They took away the bottle and the hat he was under
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| That’s the one thing that he could never do
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| And it’ll make a whisper out of you
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| She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue
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| Cops were running around the scene
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| Looking for some kind of clue
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| They never get uptight when a moth gets crushed
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| Unless a light bulb really loved him very much
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| I’m lying down
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| Blowing smoke from my cigarette
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| Little whisper smoke signs that you’ll never get
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| You’re in your oldsmobile driving by the moon
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| Headlights burning bright ahead of you
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| And someone’s burning out, out on condor avenue
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| Trying to make a whisper out of you
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| What a shitty thing to say
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| Did you really mean it?
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| You never said a word to me about what passed between us
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| So now I’m leaving you alone
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| You can do whatever the hell you want to |