Made a man out of me
a killing machine
your baby's going to die
ma, your baby's coming home
your know they put a man on the moon
simply to prove that we all need some place to go
where we're not known
where we're not
And to a lesser degree
i can recall breathing easy
but the deficit rolls
- built up i suppose
picking up the pieces
of another fucked up reason
for selling off some freedom
that was never free
never absolutely
never absolutely
Made a mess out of me
a killing machine
sometimes when i need them
if i look hard enough to see them i can find my feet
cause i push against gravity
in and out of having them
been led by defeat
so one more time's all i'll need