This cloudless night has opened vast arms
and released the stifling day.
An Army convoy crawls a dark road
like a sparkling centipede.
Where do bad folks go when they die,
sings the turret gunner in the scout vehicle.
They don't go to heaven
where the angels fly,
he sings into the headset mic.
They go to a lake of fire and fry.
We'll see 'em again on the fourth of July.
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