every day count

Ask me later,
i can see it,
burning in your eyes,
the eager heart,
i fed to hell,
just to stand here.
Any be the WAY,
your way.

Iapos;ve prostituted,
everything,
sold the last hay penny,
taken the last,
toilet brush swat,
for what ever we need.
For what ever we got.

Thirty Seven years,
for what the mother was,
not what we are,
but what we where.
I called her what she was,
a baby machine,
something so called serene.

We are nothing,
and in it,
everything we make our selves,
so who are YOU

To make me,

something I already WAS.

Or something,

Iapos;ll never be.

Since you made yourself a silent god,
you tell me.
Something I might be,
something,
Iapos;ll never be,
you make the difference

No choices had,
ad weapos;ll be what you want,
a nation of quiet,
shit machines,
welcome to believe,
what you tell us.
Life is sacred,
just as you made it,

Perfect for explosion,
wait,
since those kids arenapos;t OUR own,
it makes sense,
explain it to me,

the kids born of our own ilk,
not kind or creed,
are freed,
by a nation that allows freedom,
by threat of death,
to those that canapos;t provide,
what we provide,
but if I kill my own,
im immoral.

You tell me.
What is life.
What is a life?
every day count, every day cooking pbs, every day cooking, every day companion, every day china.