Helicopters are like thunder

Their rotors cutting through the air

They swarm over villages

While small children playing

Look up with astonishment

Death may visit their town

Or maybe a friends today

Don’t you understand child

This is the American way?

Democracy comes at the end of the knife

At the fall of the bomb

It comes neatly encased in a bullet

It is our democratic peace

Our republic of misery

Freedom approaches on the black horse of Death

War is money

Too bad you were in the way.