Ballad of the Thin Man
High above the foreign lands
Power in the Thin Man’s hands
Western science coalesced
In Thin Man’s finger firmly pressed.
He’s the one that gets to chose
Who will win
And who will lose.
The finger of his mailed fist
Picks names on a hidden list
Acting as avenging GOD
He’s never limp
Always hard
Seated on his mighty throne
His scepter a deadly drone
Pinstriped pinheads gather round
Holding targets they have found
Pictures for the Thin Man’s eyes
That discern just who will die.
Where are those who were aghast
At such actions in the past?
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