Dreamers 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
 And 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 as heartache, you idiot
 It's all inside of your head
 ♪
 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
 I'm wasting away, I'm wasting away