Pressure in my hand, stale loaf of bread, motors building high, spin cycle tight, no

 buzzer sounds, ammo around, no thought of quick retreat, sweat is dripping off my sheets.

 Like bombs dropping on Birmingham, when the water pump whistles, will I know who I am?

 Will I see classic pictures in my memories, coming in for a landing at a different degree?

 Bombs, bombs dropping, dropping, bombs dropping.

 Throw the hand grenade, hold the ace of spades, no more hide and seek, time for me to sneak a peek.

 Do I dare to stand, bunker full of sand, the enemy is near, smoke-filled sky is not so clear.

 Like bombs dropping on Birmingham, when the water pump whistles, will I know who I am?

 Will I see classic pictures in my memories, coming in for a landing at a different degree?

 Bombs dropping, bombs dropping, dropping.

 Like bombs dropping on Birmingham, when the water pump whistles, will I know who I am?

 Will I see classic pictures in my memories, coming in for a landing at a different degree?

 At a different degree.

 At a different degree.

 Like bombs dropping on Birmingham.