Tilting at the Univendor

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