| It all seemed so idiotic
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| All the accusations of unpatriotic
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| The fall we’ll always remember
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| Capitulating silence election November
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| Before the winter
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| Of the long hot summer
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| Somewhere in the desert
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| We raised the oil pressure
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| And waited for the weather
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| To get much better
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| For the new wind to blow in the storm
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| We tried to remember the history in the region
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| The French foreign legion, Imperialism
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| Peter O’Toole and hate the Ayatollah
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| Were all we learned in school
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| Not that we gave Hussein five billion
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| Not of our new bed partner the Syrian
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| And of course no mention
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| Of the Palestine situation
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| It was amazing how they steamrolled
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| They said eighty percent approval
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| But there was no one that I knew polled
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| No one had a reason for being in the Gulf
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| We waited for Congress to speak up
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| Illegal build up
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| But no one would wake up
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| Our representatives were Milli Vanilli’s
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| For corporate Dallas Cowboy Beverly Hillbillies
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| With perfect timing
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| The politicians rhyming their sentiments
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| So nicely oil, gold and sand
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| My sediments precisely…
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| We regretfully support the lunacy
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| I’m afraid there is no time for more scrutiny
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| National unity preserve our community
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| Teflon election opportunities
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| Were in profundant abundance
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| On January second the Bush administration
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| Announced a recession had stricken the Nation
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| The highest quarterly earnings in ten years
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| Were posted by Chevron
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| Meanwhile a budget was placed in our hands
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| As the deadline in the sand came to an end
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| So much for the peace dividend
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| One billion a day is what we spent
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| And our grandchildren will pay for it 'til the end
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| When schools are unfunded
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| And kids don’t get their diplomas
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| They get used for gun boat diplomacy
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| Disproportionately black or brown we see
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| Bullet catchers for the slave master
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| Then the conservatives called up reservists
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| To active service left families nervous
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| But more importantly broke nine hundred a month
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| But the check came late, army red tape you see
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| This golden opportunity
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| We watched the tube and read the newspaper
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| The propaganda of the gas masked raper
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| Was the proper slander to whip up the hatred
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| The stage was lit and the lights were all faded
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| The pilots in night vision goggles Kuwaited and
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| Generals masturbated
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| 'Til the fifteenth two days later they invaded
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| Not a single t.v. |
| station expressed dissension or
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| Hardly made mention to the censorship of information
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| From our kinder and gentler nation
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| Blinder and mentaler retardation
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| Disorientation
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| The pilots said their bombs lit Baghdad
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| Like a Christmas tree
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| It was the Christian thing to do you see
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| They didn’t mention any casualties
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| No distinction between the real
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| And the proxy
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| Only football analogies
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| We saw the bomb hole
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| We watched the Super Bowl
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| We saw the scud missile
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| We watched Bud commercials
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| We saw the yellow ribbons
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| Saw pilots in prison
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| We never saw films of the dead
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| At eleven
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| Angela Davis addressed the spectators
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| And shouting above a rumbling generator said
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| If they insist on bringing us down
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| Then let’s shut the whole country down
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| Marching through the downtown
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| A hundred thousand became participants
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| And we heard the drums of millions off in the distance
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| Rushing through the cities
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| Some of them did things that weren’t so pretty
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| Most were there for primal scream therapy
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| News men concentrated
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| On the negative liked the jingoists more
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| Peaceful protesters ended up on
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| The cutting room floor
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| Nintendo casualties of the ratings war
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| More bombs dropped than in World War II
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| Or in both Asian invasions
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| New world order persuasion
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| Business as usual for our nation
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| Could you imagine a hundred fifty thousand dead
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| The city of Stockton coffins locked in
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| When we clocked in. Not to mention civilians
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| The loss of life on both sides
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| Pushed the limits of resilience
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| The scent of blood in our nostrils
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| Fuel of the fossil land of apostle
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| The blackness that covered the sky
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| Was not the only thing that
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| Brought a tear to the eye or
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| The taste of anger to the tongues
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| Of those too young to remember
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| Vietnam
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| Is heroin better in a veteran’s mind
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| Than the memory of the dying laying in a line
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| Is it the smell or the shadows heaving and weeping
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| That keeps the soldier from sleeping
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| As he sings the orphan’s lullaby
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| When the soldiers put down their bayonets
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| The strings are chained to the marionettes
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| Emir of Kuwait gets back in his jet
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| We replace the dead with new cadets
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| Will we hate those who did the shelling
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| Or will we hate those who weren’t willing
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| To do the killing
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| When the leaders of the bald eagles come home to roost
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| Will we sing a song of praise and indebtedness
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| For our deliverance from evil?
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| Or will we sing a song of sadness
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| For the dreaded debt this mess
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| Delivered us people? |