Condemn young men to fight a war
Deceive to make the profits soar
And desecrate a foreign shore
What men do for goddamned oil
And if the profit margins sag
Producing economic drag
Sound the trumpet, raise the flag
And march on others soil
For there's black gold in them thar hills
We need it all to pay the bills
The coldest war is one that chills
While all else comes to boil
It has to stop eventually
But they're prepared for that you see
Once they have hegemony
For that is what they toil
For when the subjugation's done
If we can still see the rising sun
Our cars on something else will run
Their plan is hard to foil
But if their growing hubris breaks
Revealing them as greedy fakes
Rumbling skies o'er earth that quakes
As human's nature will uncoil
'Til then were caught in time and space
So unprepared to take our place
Ignoring questions we should face
And all for goddamned oil
stephen h. smith FEB23 2003
