The sun has bleached the blood out of the carpet And we bought a brand new twenty foot bed We keep all of the guns under the mattress Are you happy now? Does it make you proud? Do you tell her that you love her everyday? Well my diary can't keep up with me It's called amphetamines I'm shooting up the ceiling every day But it really takes the punch out of the line To know that all this time The monster in the closet Was a perfectly nice guy When the house is on fire Blame the guy holding the match But when the house is full of spiders Can you really blame him for for that When the house is too quiet And you're standing in the ash Just you and the guy from your closet Well whose fault is that? Who ya gonna call? Who ya gonna call? Who ya gonna call? To clean up your mess