Dreamer's Disease

I don’t want to be a waste I’m wasted. I’m wasting away While I’m out here making history, you’re making love To demons with no idea what horns have done But I don’t care. no, I don’t care I’ll die with a smile so my widow gets jealous The ones that observed are the worst story tellers And lust is pulling my chair from under me Well it seems like the amorous man has prostitute-like commitment again And it feels like my eager hands are searching for that promiscuous skin Don’t mock me by existing My ambition went from handsome as hell straight to ugly as sin But I don’t care, why should I care? So fuck making love, see I’d rather make history I’d prefer a monument over the kiss of thee The world is pulling the rug from under me Well it seems like the amorous man has prostitute-like commitment again And it feels like my eager hands are searching for that promiscuous skin They say home is where the heart is So where do you keep your bed? And if home is where the heart is Then what do I do with this empty chest? They say home is where the heart is So where do you keep your bed? And if home is where the heart is It’s a crying shame we can’t afford the rent I’ll stay home where the heart is While you better yourself in bed You’ll stay out with the hardest piece of him Between the both of your legs I’d rather be homeless Than smelling his scent in our bed There’s no such thing as heartache, you idiot I’ll stay home where the heart is While you better yourself in bed There’s no such thing, you idiot It’s all inside your head