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There are boxes packed with bullets, there are crates all stacked with boxes |
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There are uniforms and hardware, there are meals all wrapped in plastic |
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Through the night the ships are loading, every night these ships are loading |
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Beneath the glare of the burning floodlights and the dancing of the swarmed mosquitoes |
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And into the fire and the blood red sun the old and rich still send the young men |
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Into a world of twisted steel and the acrid smell of metal burning |
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And on the streets of hometown now, we watch each other as if we're strangers |
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But say it loud, scream it loud: I am not at war |
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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 |
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And into the fire and the blood red sun the old and rich still send the young men |
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Into a world of twisted steel and the acrid smell of metal burning |
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And on the streets of hometown now, we watch each other as if we're strangers |
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But say it loud, scream it loud: I am not at war |
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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 |
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And into the fire and the blood red sun the old and rich still send the young men |
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Into a world of twisted steel and the acrid smell of oil burning |
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And on the streets of hometown now, we watch each other just like strangers |
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But say it loud, scream it loud: I am not at war |
