| There are boxes packed with bullets, there are crates all stacked with boxes
|
| There are uniforms and hardware, there are meals all wrapped in plastic
|
| Through the night the ships are loading, every night these ships are loading
|
| Beneath the glare of the burning floodlights and the dancing of the swarmed
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| mosquitoes
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| And into the fire and the blood red sun the old and rich still send the young
|
| men
|
| Into a world of twisted steel and the acrid smell of metal burning
|
| And on the streets of hometown now, we watch each other as if we’re strangers
|
| But say it loud, scream it loud: I am not at war
|
| He says: this body I have been given shall be returned unto its maker
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| Beneath my clothes these secrets hidden, the sacrifice that I have to offer
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| By the checkpoint there are soldiers and the cypress branches waving
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| And the light is hard as glass and the sky is blue and cool and waiting
|
| And into the fire and the blood red sun the old and rich still send the young
|
| men
|
| Into a world of twisted steel and the acrid smell of metal burning
|
| And on the streets of hometown now, we watch each other as if we’re strangers
|
| But say it loud, scream it loud: I am not at war
|
| These stupid empty words could all be written on the cold pale skin
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| Of the dead laid out in shallow graves along the road of bombed out palm trees
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| And in the corners of the bars and cafes, in every town, in every nation
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| There are these blood-sports on the TVs and the loaded toneless voices
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| There are cameras by the gravesides and in the executioners' chambers
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| There are cameras high above us to guide the missiles down from the heavens
|
| And into the fire and the blood red sun the old and rich still send the young
|
| men
|
| Into a world of twisted steel and the acrid smell of oil burning
|
| And on the streets of hometown now, we watch each other just like strangers
|
| But say it loud, scream it loud: I am not at war |