Enlisted Fleas

So rack those soldiers up good, I tell ya.
Put them in a plane and send ‘em off…
It’s for their country sure, they know what they’re there for;
They know what the Taliban do…

A black mass of overhead planes stuck in a haze of sheeted jumpers; jumping around the
desert like flea’s; bullet dodging as they land.
  Bush say’s jump and flea’s jump. They bite too. Bite hard; drawing blood.

The plain’s are usually quiet, but not near the oil-fields. 
So much money in thick, gelatinous sludge, black fuel for the trucks that keep rolling in.
where the streets keep filling up with new Afghan soldiers ready for riot fighting.
Pakistan borderline, it’s getting dangerous.
Car’s aren’t safe to drive in anymore, they might have been wire tampered.

But we got it, we can’t stop it, we just got to make some changes.

The wicked sound, rattling ages, crashing over quaking windows.
So what’s it for? Oh, man. The, coffin’s are coming in weekly –
and the news doesn’t say it all.
 I see that woman blink awkwardly between those sentences covered in blood.
And as she tries to hide the truth in her eyes; she blinks with shame, every time she see’s a
plane heading southward’s in a dust filled sky. 

It’s not her fault, or theirs, or ours, or mine… and I’m sorry. So sorry.
I say sorry a lot, see?

So don’t trust the woman on TV. Fake political apology for a self-created catastrophe.
The money accounts are draining out and the people are bleeding out in the desert. 
There’s no room for human nature in military training.
What will you find out if you check an enemy soldiers pulse? That you’re both dead…