The Beat of Black Wings

I met a young soldier
He said his name was Killer Kyle
He was shakin’ all over
Like a night-frightened child.
This is his story
It’s a tough one for me to sing
Hard as the squawk and the flap
And the beat of—the beat of black wings.
“They gave me a gun,” he said
“They gave me a mission
For the power and the glory—
Propaganda—piss on ’em.
There’s a war zone inside me—
I can feel things exploding—
I can’t ever hear the fuckin’ music playin’
For the beat of—the beat of black wings.”
He said, “I never had nothin’—
Nothin’ I could believe in.
My girl killed our unborn child
Without even grievin’!
I put my hand on her belly
To feel the kid kickin’—damn!
She’d been to some clinic
Oh—the beat of black wings.”
“They want you—they need you—
They train you to kill—
To be a pin on some map—
Some vicarious thrill—
The old <i>hate</i> the young
That’s the whole heartless thing
The old pick wars
We die in ’em
To the beat of—the beat of black wings.”
There’s a man drawing pictures
On the sidewalk with chalk.
Just as fast as he draws ’em
Rain come down and wash ’em off.
“Keep the drinks comin’, girl
Till I can’t feel anything
I’m just a <i>chalk mark in a rainstorm</i>
I’m just the beat of—
The beat of black wings.”