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