Bullet the Blue Sky

In the howling wind comes a stinging rain
See them driving nails into souls in the tree of pain
From the firefly,
a red orange glow
I see the face of fear 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

Yeah, alright, hold you.
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,
lapping them down:
one hundred, two hundred.

And I can see the fighter planes.
I can see the fighter planes.
Across the mud huts where the children sleep,
across the valleys and the quiet city streets.
We take the staircase to the first floor.
We take the key and slowly unlock the door.
A man breathes into a saxophone.
Through the walls we hear the city groan.

Outside it's America,
outside it's America.
So I'm back in my hotel room with John Coltrane
and a love supreme,
and in the next room I hear a woman scream out.
Her lover's turning off,
turning on the television,
and I can't tell the difference between ABC News,
Hillstreet Blues
and a preacher on the Old Time Gospel Hour
stealing money from the sick and the old.
Well, the God I believe in isn't short of cash, mister.
I feel a long way from the hills of San Salvador
where the sky is ripped open
and the rain pours through a gaping wound,
pelting the women and children,
pelting the women and children run,
run in to the arms of America.