| I met a young soldier
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| He said his name was Killer Kyle
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| He was shakin' all over
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| Like a night-frightened child
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| This is his story
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| It’s a tough one for me to sing
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| Hard as the squawk and the flap
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| And the beat of, the beat of black wings
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| «They gave me a gun,» he said
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| «They gave me a mission
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| For the power and the glory
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| Propaganda, piss on 'em
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| There’s a war zone inside me
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| I can feel things exploding
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| I can’t even hear the fucking music playing
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| For the beat of
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| The beat of black wings.»
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| He said, «I never had nothin'
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| Nothin' I could believe in
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| My girl killed our unborn child
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| Without even grievin'!
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| I put my hands on her belly
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| To feel the kid kickin', damn!
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| She’d been to some clinic
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| Oh, the beat of black wings.»
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| «They want you, they need you
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| They train you to kill
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| To be a pin on some map
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| Some vicarious thrill
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| The old hate the young
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| That’s the whole heartless thing
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| The old pick the wars
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| We die in 'em
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| To the beat of, the beat of black wings.»
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| There’s a man drawing pictures
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| On the sidewalk with chalk
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| Just as fast as he draws 'em
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| Rain come down and wash 'em off
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| «Keep the drinks comin' girl
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| 'Til I can’t feel anything
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| I’m just a chalk mark in a rainstorm
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| I’m just the beat of black wings.» |