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Gm (SOLm) Cm (DOm) D (RE)
Out there in the desert where that strange light falls,
Upon the ancient lands that have blessed them all,
All day long you bear the heat and the sandstorm squalls,
Blow sand into your eyes and you wish that you weren't,
So far from home, from the people that you know,
From the girl next door that always loved you so,
Mama's crying in the kitchen for the day that she'll see,
Your sweet yong face again,
And Papa's got the television blaring in his face,
Rupert's cathode-ray-tube daydream keeps him in his place,
And he may suspect, but he shows no signs of thinking,
(Could it happen real soon?),
And your sister's down the mall getting fast food fat,
Whilst her boyfriend gets recruited by some army diplomat,
And she sups on her coke and stares at the polystyrene carton,
That she holds in her hands,
It's a symbol of the liberty that your fighting for,
Let's get them out of mosques and into department stores,
Give them credit cards whilst they are still bleeding,
So send your sons and daughters to the firing line,
They'll send them back in boxes, line-upon-line,
And our heros shall fall so the rich can just get richer...
There's nothing really more to it than what you shall win,
The bent-backed woman with the severed limb,
The man whose house is just rubble that smells of cordite,
But oh how the Sun shines so bright,
And shining down upon you as you ride in,
See the smiling faces of the permanent victims,
Looking up you, expecting some kind of miracle,
That will never come true,
But suddenly you realise it was all a lie,
The mortar-shell explodes and you just have time,
To curse that bastard and his falcons in the great big Whitehouse,
With its freshly cut lawn,
And back their in your small-town your mother stands,
With your father, who still can't understand,
As his son is laid to rest, sheathed in that Star Spangled Banner,
Now it's got a new star,
And your sister's getting fatter and the girl next door,
Has found someone else that she was looking for,
He's a broker in the city selling oil of shore,
And our heroes shall fall so the rich can just get richer,
Now it's gun-shot, gun-powder, cold-steel-joy,
Feels so good in your hands?
You're one of the big boys,
Cross-hairs, long-range-missile brings,
Liberty and freedom to all who feel that,
Warm rip of flesh, collapsing on the ground,
Eyes staring up at you, your boots planted in the sand,
And surely they must thank their god to die in peace and freedom?
So send your sons and daughters to the firing line,
They'll send them back in boxes, line-upon-line,
And our heroes shall fall so the rich can just get richer,
Just get richer,
Oh just get richer,
And our heroes shall fall so the rich can just get richer.
© 2005 Mike Harris. For rights, I reserve my rights to this work as my own. The recordings of the pieces may be freely downloaded, shared and performed; song long as it is for non-commercial purposes and so long as I am credited as the original author and so long as you are happy to share recordings of your performances and intepretations of the pieces. The lyrics may be copied and reproduced in part or whole, use them as you wish so long as it is for non-commercial purposes.
This
work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 License.
