Luyện nghe bài hát War Supply

War. The ultimate. The of friend or foe.
Always by the high and fought out by the low.
Elevated to the of honourable feud.
Fought to or death. Either him or you.

Cannon fodder dressed up proud to or even die.

Carrying cross of Christ, the star of David, or
of God, the hammer and the sickle or banner
splattered with your blood. Camouflaged and
you await all in confidence, at peace. Blown apart,
one could not tell your brains your feet.

As spirit slips away and Earth drinks from your blood.
The irony is that the last thing think is - "Oh my God!".

your...
War Supply. War Supply. War Supply.
Not until that mine has you in two you'll think just fucking "why".

At the bottom of the crater in a deaths terrain.
You grab your head as if to keep yourself from insane.
Tracers cut a million burning tracks above head.
Staring at your support weapon, wishing you'd dare.

Just one delicate press on the trigger and all gone.

Ask if your one life is worth spending this way.
Tell me where's all glory you seek countless young
men slain. Indoctrinated as you are by church, school,
and your command you'll think of how your death
contribute and benefit your land.

In uniform you look all as you march off to war.
From now on your damn rubber will be your style forever more.

War Supply. War Supply. War Supply. War Supply.
War Supply. War Supply. War Supply. Not until
mine has you in two you'll think just fucking "why".