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Calling Cuba

de Fury In The Slaughterhouse

We're dropplng bombs down on the kids
They can't eat bombs
And we know this
But we're doing what we're told
We're flying around in strategic bombers
With an afterburner straight to hell
Where napalms burning love that smell

My little girl she sits at horne
With my last letter all alone
She stops to read closes her eyes and then she cries
My daddy told me he was proud
My mummy's praying but not too loud
I wonder if the lord will get the massage clear
Oh mummy be shure I'll come back
In a wodden box all painted black
A bullet between the eyes is all what's left for you

Seven times I've asked my head
But all I've got is nomansland...nomansland...

And if those generals say: don't worry
Same old assholes same old story
And it's not true...

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