In the howling wind comes a stinging rain
See them driving nails
Into the souls on the tree of pain
From the firefly,
A red orange glow
See the face of fear
Running scared in the valley below

Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue
Bullet the blue

In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel
And the angel was overcome
You plant a demon seed
You raise a flower of fire
See them burning crosses
See the flames higher and higher

Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue
Bullet the blue
Yeah...alright...oh...

This guy comes up to me
His face red like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colors of a royal flush
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slappin' 'em down
One hundred, two hundred

And I can see those fighter planes
And I can see those fighter planes
Across the mud huts where the children sleep
Through the alleys of the quiet city streets
You take the staircase to the first floor
You turn the key and slowly unlock the door
As a man breathes into a saxophone
And through the walls you hear the city groan
Outside it's America
Outside it's America

So I'm back in my hotel room with Johnnie Coltrane and the love supreme. In the next room I hear some woman scream out
that her lover's turning off, turning on the television. And I can't tell the difference between ABC news, Hill Street Blues and a
preacher on the old time gospel hour, stealing money from the sick and the old. Well the God I believe in isn't short of cash,
mister. I feel a long way from the hills of San Salvador where the sky is ripped open and the rain pours through a gaping wound
pelting the women and children, pelting the women and children. Who run, who run...into the arms...of America.