I, the throw away

Made a man out of me A killing machine Your baby's going to die ma Your baby's coming home You know they put a man on the moon Simply to prove that we all need a 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 of some freedom that was never free Well, never abseloutely Never abseloutely 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 As I push against gravity In and out of having them been Led by defeat So one more time's all I need