In August '05, the planes will fly, with me inside.
A place of sand, weapon in hand, there I'll stand.
No return, the heat will burn, looking so stern.
Bullets will fly, women will cry, people will die.

Getting ready for the revolution,
a million man march; up in arms.
Fighting for tyranny, or was it freedom?
My God, a man-made valley of death.

Coffins in place, taking up space, bearing a face.
No more lives, no more drives, no more lies.
Iraqis will vote, buildings will smoke, people will choke.
Rivers of blood, covered in mud, filled with duds.

Getting ready for the resolution,
a million man riot, bearing arms.
Fighting for liberty, or was it oil?
My God, which side am I on?

Blood will flow, that's how it goes, no one knows?
Filled with rounds, filled with sounds, hellward bound.
Buildings burn, Spectre turns, no one learns.
Air Force destroys, Marines deploy, polititians so coy.

Getting ready for the restoration,
a million man Crusade, without arms.
Fighting against terrorism, or was it justice?
My God, tell me what have I done?

Getting ready for the mutilation,
a million man grave, buried with arms.
Fighting for peace, or was it lies?
My God, what good have I done?

02/20/2005

Author's Note: August 2005, I'm going to Iraq. That's about all OpSec (Operational Security) will let me know.

Posted on 02/20/2005
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