Friday Night Lights Page #11

Come on.

Billingsley holds it, runs over

another Dallas Carter Cowboy.

Down to the one-yard line.

What guts to call that play.

Fooled everybody on the field.

- Clay, wait a minute.

- Holding!

I'm seeing a hold call by the official.

- Dad gum it!

- Ten-yard penalty. Still fourth down.

- That's bullshit!

- What?

Strong right, 20 to Frasier.

Winchell has to hurry. The clock

will start as soon as the ball is reset.

Let's go! Hurry up!

32! 3! 30!

Set! Hut!

It's Mike Winchell down to the five.

Is he in?

- You got him short.

- That's the ball game!

I'm gonna miss the heat.

I'm gonna miss the lights.

Yeah, me too.

Stay low, boys.

Keep those feet movin'.

Hey, Chavo. Be perfect.

You be perfect.

See ya, Mike.

See ya, Don.

See ya, Chavo.

Hey!

Seagull, you fly across the horizon

Into the misty morning sun

Nobody asks you where you are goin'

Nobody knows where you're from

There is a man asking the question

Is this really the end of the world

Seagull you must have known

for a long time

The shape of things to come

Now you fly through the sky

Never asking why

And you fly all around

Till somebody

Shoots you down

Mmm, yeah

Seagull, you fly

Seagull, you fly

And you fly away today

And you fly away tomorrow

And you fly away

Leave me to my sorrow

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