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