Dreamers Disease - letlive.

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 as heartache, you idiot

It’s all inside your head