Shine my runners your porch sitter with your delicate friends talking trendy with bitter
You still listen, you still listen to his harsh critiques and his faulty blessings
But he's a hedge-marker, a hedge, hedge marker with his Sunday veals replacing your harvest
And there's a finders fee to be made
And there's a finders fee to be paid
And if the finders fee is anxiety then you know what to do and he knows what to do too
He's still worried, he's still worried, from his paranoid dreams where he's revealed and foresaken
He knows he's a liar, a big big liar, and you sort of know it too but are afraid to tell him
Because he still listens, he still listens when you come home wounded, rubbing your blood on his blanket
And there's a finders fee to be made
And there's a finders fee to be paid
And if the finders fee is a clue then you will storch his soul and you will burn the porch down
And there's a finders fee to be made
And there's a finders fee to be paid
And if the finders fee is anxiety then you know what to do and he knows what to do too