Tilting At The Univendor - At The Drive-In

I let a sparrow talk me out of the crib

Made of mannequin arms and sycophants

She sang her caution thrown against the odds

I’m not tilting at the windmills, I’m taking my chances

She put the feral back inside my voices

I’ll take a cigarette, put it out on my arm

It’s the only way that I can feel

One tempts the saint and the other takes the sinner away

The Teleprompter has begun to rot

Where I’ve carried the blindest items

They’ll seem to find a way to haunt you again

I’m not tilting at windmills, I’m taking my chances

She put the feral back inside my voices

I’ll take a cigarette, put it out on my arm

It’s the only way that I can feel

One tempts the saint and the other takes the sinner away

Sung by the choir whose lungs are broken

Stung by a million justifications

Swung by the faithful grip of a million axes

Sung by the choir whose lungs are broken

Stung by a million justifications

Swung by the disenchanted, not faint of heart

Pray that you never find a place to bury you, bury you

Pray that you never find a place to bury you, bury you

She put the feral back inside my voices

I’ll take a cigarette, put it out on my arm

It’s the only way that I can feel

One tempts the saint and the other takes the sinner away

One tempts the saint and the other takes the sinner away