Bullet the Blue Sky
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Lyrics
Yep
In the howling wind comes a stinging rain
See it driving nails into souls on the tree of pain
From the firefly, a red orange glow
I see a face of fear, it's running scared in the valley below
The sky
The sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel and the angel was overcome
You plant a demon seed, you raise a flower of fire
See them burning crosses, see the flames, higher and higher
The sky
The sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Run over to you, Roy Lichtenstein
See, this guy comes up to me
His face red like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colours of a royal flush
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four
I can see the fighter planes
I can see the fighter planes
Across the alleys, the quiet city streets
Across the tin huts and the Sarotista's sleep
Through the keys I unlock the door
Up the staircase to the first floor
A man breathes into a saxophone
Through the walls we hear the city groan
Outside it's America
Outside it's America
America, America
In the howling wind comes a stinging rain
See it driving nails into souls on the tree of pain
From the firefly, a red orange glow
I see a face of fear, it's running scared in the valley below
The sky
The sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel and the angel was overcome
You plant a demon seed, you raise a flower of fire
See them burning crosses, see the flames, higher and higher
The sky
The sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Run over to you, Roy Lichtenstein
See, this guy comes up to me
His face red like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colours of a royal flush
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four
I can see the fighter planes
I can see the fighter planes
Across the alleys, the quiet city streets
Across the tin huts and the Sarotista's sleep
Through the keys I unlock the door
Up the staircase to the first floor
A man breathes into a saxophone
Through the walls we hear the city groan
Outside it's America
Outside it's America
America, America
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