Condor Ave. -
by Elliott Smith
| She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue | |
| And she locked the car and 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 | |
| The sound of the car driving off made me feel diseased | |
| 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 | |
| They'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 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 |