|
Left, left, left
Right left
Bulletin I
On Friday Saturday will
Gust low to strut in the face
Of heavy sunshine.
At the northern heights
Evening will rise and file out.
I left my wife in Pennsylvania
With official lies and a Prez with a grin and a wild-west mania—
Itching to fight, the guy yacked with god and oil lubed his brainia
I thought I was right; I thought he was right
Right for my country and right for the world
AND WHOOP-DEE-DOO
The crime’s a damn joke on me and you
Bulletin II
Sunday lays low
To mobilize today.
Boundaries are drawn
To kidnap afternoon.
A showdown in blustery skies
Threatens to seal our doom.
Left, left I left my life in New Orleans
With boy-girl twins and a flood-load of liens
And a Prez with no clue to what bad news means
I thought I was right; I thought he was right
Right for my country and right for the world
I thought it was right, right
AND WHOOP-DEE-DOO
The knock’s at the door and
Death’s got the hots for me and you
Bulletin III
Forces continue to race along the eastern tier.
The system marches from rear lines
To the raveled brink of the moon.
The isolate will intensify.
Spotlights gain a foothold along the shore,
But the immediate sector
Is dredged by aimless
Ranks of an untrained rebel flank.
Left, left, left right, I left my kids on the streets of starvation
With Fritos and Ring Dings to pass for nutrition
And a Prez with a smirk and a holy mission
Did I do right, right?
Right for my country, the others, or me
Did I do right
To hitch my hide to
WHOOP-DE-DOO
to speak in tongues
And hear askew
The laugh, ha ha’s, on me and you
Bulletin IV
Long before defeat slopes
To the sea, departure drizzles the air.
The danger of terror is within range.
Much colder fleeces the culture’s reign.
The security of weather grinds to a halt.
Remain stationary. Be pacific.
Do not board frighted winds,
Passing buses or armored tanks.
The most hit-or-miss system on record now blows.
Left, left I had a good home and I left
I had a good wife and I left
I enlisted one day and it served me right
Right where the shell mince-meated both knees
And the Prez revs up his grin and lies through his teeth
WHOOP-DE-DOO
Buddy boy god, come down for a spin
And lasso me in for a finger-lickin’ win.
Bulletin V
Widespread portions will rally
While late-night maneuvers panhandle
Briskly for beyond-disclaimer stakes.
Stalled tactics fuel a mix
Of weakened defenses competing
With surges of energy unable to strike.
Hot nights and cold days will accelerate
Corridors of stubborn jeopardy.
There are new furies on the moon.
Rest assured, the dead and injured
will be flown home only at night
Left, left, left
Right left
Right left
Don’t sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me
With anyone else but me
No, no, no
‘Til I come marching home.
|
