Watching them, I seem to hear the far off drone
Of a Lockheed P-38 – fork-tailed devils as they are.
Chanting their chants. Waving their signs.
Nothing more ominous – fork-tailed devils, they are
Cruising by, I seem to feel it welling up inside me,
That feeling of being a destroyer – gunship as I am.
Thinking my thoughts. Holding my own.
Nothing more ominous – gunship as I am.
Remembering Churchill, carrying a Tommy-gun,
And reminding us all of the thuggery.
You never pictured Bertrand Russell in a knife fight
Philosopher punk. Philosopher drunk
The game is laying in weight.
The fight was never so deep.