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 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 as I push against gravity   In and out of having them been led by defeat   So one more time's all I need