At The Drive-In - Pick Pocket Lyrics

In the humble stence of nativity,
hummed the smell of television snow.
A faint S.O.S. flickering,
riding on the coattails of your ground zero.

Neighborhood footprints ingrown.
The daylight savings time will never know
of this alabaster cold,
of this alabaster.

Your lover's quarrel ended up in a crawspace.
Dental identities will tell us apart.
Teeth marked and bounded with sighs.
"Step into my parlor." said the spider to the fly.

Stable hooved footprints ingrown.
Cloak and dagger music blared in ohms
of this alabaster cold,
of this alabaster cold,
of this alabaster cold.

Ingrown! Ingrown!
Ingrown! Ingrown!

More caliber per capita.
Ingrown! Ingrown!
More caliber per capita.
Ingrown!
More caliber per capita.
More, more, more, more caliber per capita.
More, more caliber per capita.
More caliber per capita.

Neighborhood footprints ingrown.
The daylight savings time will never know.
Breakfast table search teams implode.
The milk cartons that pour will never know
of this alabaster cold,
of this alabaster cold,
of this alabaster cold,
of this alabaster
cold.