Jun 14, 2005 19:46
This guy comes up to me
His face red like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colors of a royal flush
And he’s peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
One hundred, two hundred
And I can see those fighter planes
And I can see those fighter planes
Across the mud huts where the children sleep
Through the alleys of a quiet city street
Take the staircase to the first floor
Turn the key and slowly unlock the door
As a man breathes into a saxophone
Through the walls we hear the city groan
Outside it’s america
Outside it’s america
Across the field you see the sky ripped open
See the rain come through the gaping wound
Pounding on the women and children who run into the arms of america
U2 -- Bullet the Blue Sky