High above dark stormy clouds,
The Lady Luck, she circles and waits,
The strike formation, begins to form;
All hoping none are too late,
The word from the leader's plane,
And it comes for us none too soon,
We steer our way to towards the north,
Navigating by a bright full moon,
Perchance we've a got fresh target,
And this time we're grimly glad,
Not required to murder civilians;
This whole damn war's gone mad,
We relax a bit and try for some rest,
There's still a long, long way to go.
Finally, we reach the last checkpoint;
Our leader says, "It's Green for Go!"
We all confirm each other's okay,
A mixed and motley crew,
Each of us knowing his own task,
Each on drilled right through.
Our final approach to our target;
It's now a bright fighter's moon.
We dread that the gunners below,
Will commence their barrage too soon.
Our demanding job is daunting,
And mostly we try to pretend.
That enemies are only to blame,
For whoever to Heaven we send.
Our targets are enemy warships,
Raising steam, attempting to flee.
Our slim chances of scoring a hit;
About one in thirty-three.
Now I check our deadly cargo,
In the bomb-bay down below.
It's my sole responsibility;T
o send death falling like snow.
Now peering through my bombsight,
Chewing pink gum as I do,
I'm wonder if some poor kid like me,
Serves down there in that crew.
I focus hard — now it gets real,
Such careful attention to pay.
The warships drift into my sights—
Relieved, I call out, “Bombs away!”
We pretend to look the other way,
From where our bombs still fall,
Death and chaos are coming soon;
On our conscience, death to all.
We turn our backs for home sweet home,
Our engines sound much brighter,
hen our calm is swiftly shattered,
someone screams out Fighter!
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