Navy Bomber Pilot
20,000 feet above the great planet, Earth. Panic...
becomes irrelivant.
A lovely array of clouds down there below;
Lighting our poker-faces with it's orange glow, the target
Sierra. Where a hundred singed faces tremble in fear
of Echo flight 1.
In the tin cylinder, two uniforms buried in an array of life support
machinery
wheaseing with each breath, watch their dots;
flick their switches, and destroy their millions
For a few lousy dollars, they push their buttons
Massacre their targets.
Gloriously and heroically
make women and children cry. And skillfully
spend millions to make a poor nation poorer.
For deterrence and peace
they arm their bombs.
Engage their missiles and
blow villages to kingodm come.
High above the earth in their tin cylinder
in their A6-E intruder (appropriatley named).
20,000 feet above the great planet. Earth.