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 a prostitute like sense [bad word] 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 [bad word] as straight to ugly as sin
But I don’t care, why should I care?
So [bad word] making love, I’d rather make history
I’d prefer a monument over the kiss of thee
The world is pulling [bad word] from under me

Well it seems like the amorous man has a prostitute like sense [bad word] 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