Paroles: Elliott Smith. Roman Candle. Condor Ave.

She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue
She locked the car an' slipped past into rhythmic quietude
Lights burning, voice dry and hoarse

I threw the screen door like a bastard back and forth
The chimes fell over each other, I fell onto my knees
Sound of the car driving off made me feel diseased

A sick shouting like you hear at the fairground
Now I'm picking up to put away anything of yours that's still around
I don't know what to do with your clothes or your letters
It'll make a whisper out of you

She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue
The fairground's lit, a drunk man sits
By the gate she's driving through

Got his hat tipped bottle back in between his teeth
Looks like he's buried in the sand at the beach
I can't think about you driving off to leave barely awake
To take a little nap while the road is straight

I wish that car had never been discovered
They took away the bottle and the hat he was under
That's the one thing that he could never do
And it'll make a whisper out of you

She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue
Cops were running around the scene
Looking for some kind of clue

They never get uptight when a moth gets crushed
Unless a light bulb really loved him very much
I'm lying down, blowing smoke from my cigarette
Little whisper smoke signs that you'll never get

You're in your Oldsmobile driving by the moon
Headlights burning bright ahead of you
And someone's burning out on Condor Avenue
Trying to make a whisper out of you

What a shitty thing to say, did you really mean it?
You never said a word to me about what passed between us
So now I'm leaving you alone
You can do whatever the hell you want to