I, The Throw Away
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
Autor(es): GOOD, MATTHEW