late home tonight, part i

standing at the window, a farmer's wife in oxfordshire, glances all the clock it's nearly time for tea, she doesn't see, the phantom in the hedgerow dip its wings, doesn't hear the engine sing, but the cockpit's techno glow, behind the ray ban shine, the kid from cleveland, in the comfort of routine, scans his dials and smiles, secure in the beauty of military life, there is no right or wrong, only tin cans and cordite and white cliffs, and blue skies and flight flight flight, the beauty of military life, no questions only orders and flight only flight, what a beautiful sight in his wild blue dream, the eternal child leafs through his, war magazine, and his kind uncle sam feeds ten trillion in, change into the total entertainment, combat video game, and up here in the stands, the fans are goin' wild, the cheerleaders flip, when you wiggle your hip, and we all like the bit when you take, the jeans from the refrigerator and, the the bad guy gets hit, and were you struck by the satisfying, way the swimsuit sticks to her skin, like bb gun days, when knives pierce autumn leaves, but that's okay see the children bleed, it'll look great on the tv, and in tripoli another ordinary wife, stares at the dripping tap her old man hadn't, time to fix, too busy mixing politics and rhythm, in the street below