Above, the sky is blue and clear, clouds disperse with grace,
As I stare into yonder blue, the sun engulfs my face.
For moments I have left the sand, the desert and the pain,
Then the thunder roars above, I’m waiting for the rain.
Yet neither claps of lightning come, nor clouds to bring the wet,
The sand beneath now starts to shake, it’s coming soon, I bet.
Then from the distance, comes in view, the giant of the skies,
Hercules the plane is called, with its awesome thunderous cries.
An approach is made, to drop its cargo; the air now turns to vapour,
And now it rains, not water drops, but a million bits of paper.
The sky obstructed with its load, as leaflets slowly fall,
Above the trenches, where our foe, have lain since past nightfall.
Unlike rain they hit the earth, on yellow sand they glow,
They turn the desert white throughout, just like new fallen snow.
Then as the wind picks up it’s pace, the leaflets blow around,
Until they find a resting place, within Iraqi ground.
The soldiers grab a handful, to see what tales we tell,
The enemy has little choice; they read the notes from Hell.
The explanation seems quite clear; to fight they must not try,
Surrender now, or meet your fate, or you will surely die.
You’ll never see your family, your friends we soon will kill,
Propaganda is our ploy, to eat away their will.
To fight against a might like ours, the end result is death,
And as the bombs reign down on you, you’ll gasp your final breath.
So lift your hands above your head, throw down your guns of war,
Come out from trenches full of sand. To fight, you need no more.
Our planes of death will soon fly by, and drop their bombs of woe,
Armageddon it will seem to you, it’s too late, we told you so.
As smoking corpses lay around, the horror soon comes clear,
The bodies scattered everywhere, their faces show the fear.
If only when the notes came down, they’d taken our advice,
And given up their hopeless fight, things might have turned out nice.
Instead our warnings went unheeded; they chose to stand their ground,
And that is where they stayed for good, their bodies we then found.
This is no way to fight a war, with paper from the sky,
Perhaps their reading wasn’t good, that’s why they had to die.
Who knows what they were thinking, what thoughts did they have last,
We’ll never know, if they understood, cause next just came the blast.
All life just then ceased to exist, everybody dies,
If only they had understood, the paper from the skies.