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Artist
Song title:
Mark Lenover - Finch The Flincher
Edit By:
216.73.216.5
Mr. Finch collects physicians, he calls them all his own But each of them just looks at him and tells him to go home Then panic closes in I hope that whiney shit gets his He might be sick, but it isn't catching Though he's often left alone In waiting rooms to wonder why his hands are always cold He comes when he remembers why he's scared When the sullen gods of dirty things Are calling out and holding him Back from behind things he can't recall, At least not anymore He hopes to write a book of them some day He can't believe how quickly things pile up He'd wish to live forever if he had the chance to wish He always forgets the good things that he's got He passed as an actor playing a spineless, flinching twit Well composed and polite, He thought he'd be alright If he kept dancing here With his thumbs in his ears But there was something catching up to him And it had claws And I know exactly what he thinks it was
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