trostlos: sixth rendering

It lives on its own
It lives on its own and
Is one hundred percent
Not serious because
It is not itself and
It lives on its own
It lives on its own

Ok, add a breath
I in my stupid way
In my accidental way
Have helped to reproduce it but
I can’t take any comfort from that
In a word a breath
Because it was never in me

Is it unfair of me to expect
To be paid for it?
For the action that made it?
At the station it was made?
You cynics will say
It can’t hurt
But it does

If at any stage of the game
I gave up
It wouldn’t mean a thing
I can’t move
Imagine being so useless
No really I can’t
Not a thing

Look you’ll also say
How he’s played at life
He doesn’t even have the
Right to call his body
His own just pay me all
Right and I’ll get by
As if I can nothing