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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