It's an old profession
Of subtle artillery
Rough wheels meshing ---
bu*ton out, bu*ton in
The tall General will mine
A few bridges tonight
Stroking soft machinery
Fanfare at dawn
Courting green steel
Lined up for World War One
(Two, Three, Four)
It's an old profession
Of subtle artillery
Rough wheels meshing ---
On a landscape with no trees
The tall General points
To the distance ---
Disconnects his power supply
Writes a stiff note to his nearest
And dearest ---
He takes the battle plan
And contemplates his fly
The tall General
Flies by the seat of history
The tall General
Is crossing
The tall General
He thinks inevitability
The tall General
Is definitely crossing
With spit and with polish ---
Time for desperate measures
The pain in the forehead
From holding up to the pressures
Of life on the rim
Of the convenient alliance
Out on the rim ---
Let me out on the rim
The tall General will walk
Across the compound
With his briefcase and I.D
Later they'll post him
Seemingly missing ---
He's gone to be a Generalski