At the Drive-In, Pickpocket: We need your help!

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by At the Drive-In

In the humble stench 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

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

More caliber per capita

Breakfast table search team implodes
The milk cartons that pour will never
Know of this alabaster cold


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