Alba s touto skladbou:
The Blackest Beautiful,
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 of 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 as straight to ugly as sin
But I don’t care, why should I care?
So fuck making love, 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 a prostitute like sense of 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
