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  1. The Italian Pathologist

From the album Shiva Me Timbers

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Lyrics

The Italian Pathologist

Pointing out sights that everyone sees
His eyes are trained to find disease

An unlocked gait, he’ll gladly show
You places only priests would go

A bottle bubbles with homemade wine
The top blows off, an unpleasant surprise

The theater that his wife imposes
He prefers one that exposes
The insides that you try to hide
To show your weakness, dissolve your pride

A lonely leg hangs in his shed
Be his guest, you’ll be well fed

Golgi’s lamp, a microscope
The shroud of Turin he calls his cloak

He makes a choice, but you can’t choose
Diagnosis you can’t refuse

The theater that his wife imposes
He prefers one that exposes
The insides that you try to hide
To show your weakness, dissolve your pride

“I did it on the poor boy” Who knows what it means?
Don’t ask him to explain. He won’t say anything

A blind cat, an old lady’s ghost
“if it lives, it will live” his son would boast

He parks on sidewalks, or where he pleases
His eyes are trained to find diseases

The theater that his wife imposes
He prefers one that exposes
The insides that you try to hide
To show your weakness, dissolve your pride

Hospital halls in Italy
Master of Pathology