Pickpocket - At The Drive-In

In the humble stence of nativity

Hummed the smell of television snow

A faint S.O.S.

flickering

Riding on the coattails of their ground zero

Neighborhood footprints ingrown

The daylight savings time will never know

Of this alabaster cold

Your lovers quarrel ended up in 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 muzak blared in ohms

In this alabaster cold

Ingrown

More calibur per capita

Breakfast table search team implodes

The milk cartons that pour will never know

Of this alabaster cold