THUNDER

BY SPC FLINT CHRISTENSEN

THERE’S THUNDER IN THE SKY TONIGHT

WHILE EVERYONES IN BED

BUT I’M THE NIGHTLY WATCHMAN

SO I CAN’T LAY DOWN MY HEAD.

AS BOMBS ARE DROPPED IN BAGHDAD

THE THUNDER I CAN HEAR

IS NOT THE SOUND OF GOD’S SWEET WHISPER

BUT OF MAN’S PRIMEVAL FEAR.

WELL I DON’T LIKE THE SOUND

OF THUNDER ANYMORE,

EVER SINCE MY COUNTRY

SENT ME OFF TO WAR.

I USED TO LOOK WITH EAGER EYES

WHEN ‘ER A STORM WOULD BREW

NOW IT SOUNDS TOO MUCH LIKE MORTARS

AND FOR ME THAT JUST WON’T DO.

NO, I DON’T LIKE THE SOUND

OF OUR GOD’S PEACEFUL POWER

MIMICKED BY DESTRUCTION

OF SOMEONES FINAL HOUR.

THE DISTANT ROLLING CLIMAX

MET WITH WONDROUS APPLAUSE

SENDS ME STRAIGHT FOR COVER

IN A TREMBLING STATE BECAUSE;

I’VE HEARD IT ONCE TO MANY TIMES

EVERY TIME I HEAR IT ROLL

MY MIND STARTS RACING ONE AGAIN

AND I’M BACK ON FOREIGN SOIL.