Finch - Reduced To Teeth

Behind a mask, a man can bask only
For so long before being exposed
To the sun
The moon is up, a whisper of
"'Till death do you wrong"
Patients bother a patient doctor
Plastics itch, and bandages the
Aftermath won't add up to this.
The fever breaks
It would take a masochist
To live like this

I buried my wife today
Restitution for my sanity

Chasing demons dressed like me
Their eyes are not like mine
Ignorance is divine
Instincts are reduced to teeth
That bite the hand that feeds