I'm Filled With Steak, and Cannot Dance

At least I can advance
 Through peacetime in a trance
 Bad days too have no restrictions on the mood
 Just the degree of effort
 Usage of the brain
 Process phantom pain
 Eye strain too, the strength of which should be profuse
 And add to the collective hurt
 ♪
 So what practical matters must I settle first?
 What practical matters must be put down?
 Which ones to shoot with tranquilizers, leave them falling on the ground
 And made into a bearskin rug?
 But get this
 The bearskin is a list
 And I'm too distracted to go explaining this
 So I'll just canon stamp it
 ♪
 I want to see you at night
 Another day, another time
 I can't stand in this lit hallway anymore
 I want to be liked
 And despite
 A past of bad ideas and advice
 I sit still and wonder why I ever tried
 To think that you were any different