A feast of blood, a sea of oil

There were three ravens sat on a tree They were as black as they might be

The one of them said to his mate “Where shall we our breakfast take?”

Down in yonder Iraqi soil A feast of blood, a sea of oil.

“Will not they rise with sword & gun To send us back to kingdom come?”

From sky we’ll strike with shock & awe And then marines will kill some more.

Add phosphorous, jails, uranium Pain & pandemonium.

“When all is done”, asked raven of mate, “Where shall we our breakfast take?”

Down in yonder Iranian soil A feast of blood, a sea of oil.