The Thin Man

Under the mud, by the root of an over growing
Jacaranda

Covered in worms, are the words of the man made mythical
Bone collector

Cursive and neat were the marks of his thinning figures
Skinny finger

Leaving a map and directions to his decomposing
Long lost treasure

Cursed by the ghosts of the bones of the friends we searched for
All last summer

Just as we thought to give up and move on
We were faced with remains of your body and the shoes I bought for you



Credits
Writer(s): Sean Christopher Conran
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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