And if you slipped off the duckboards, you’d vanish in the mud
Where a weird and wonderful new world awaits you
A fate that met your squad in the retreat on the back foot
And you’re sure that Tyler had your phone last, of course
Just as you’d found a power bank on an American corpse
Now you’re all alone with him, pinned down with no recourse
And your radio’s fucked, or they’re all just as fucked as that F22

It leaves a stillness in the no-man’s-land, pierced by the odd potshot
You could hear them lighting cigarettes from the neighbouring trenches
There’s no birds anymore, but you appreciate the birdsong of a fleeting drone
Looking for flesh in the trenches, dodging dragnet defenses
And you hear it in your sleep, as much as you cry when one comes
Your daydream dispels as some idiot makes a brave charge across
Then the whole field gets shooting and shot and whatnot

Then the birdsong whines again, at a guess from your 8-o’clock
It screams and then it eases up, hovering near earshot
You’d dare not lift your head and take a peek or you’re fried
But my God, does all of this make you miss getting fried
The drone gets shot and drops, but no boom follows suit
And your hearing is shot, but you’re sure you’re hearing a voice
You chance a quick look, there’s a Bluetooth speaker taped to the top
You drop dead as they all stop, a final message coming from the top

“To the soldiers, we thank you for your service and your sacrifice to us
To the fags in rags, you’re all about to feel all the temperature of Hell itself
You’re all squatters and nothing more, you blue-collared cunts
You’ve made this place a real fuss for us, we don’t want it anymore
So we’re solving this state in one twelve-figure swoop
And it’ll be here in roughly 20 minutes
So pray pray pray for God to laugh in your face
Yours truly, the money behind the President of the United States”