February 2nd, 2002


12 April 1992, over the Atlantic

To be a mole for the CIA
To me would seem ideal
To spy on foreign diplomats
To use a gun for real
To boldly go where no man goes
To serve my dear country
To wine and dine with criminals
To set my people free
To be a veritable hypocrite
To lie and cheat and steal
To risk my life for all this shit
To pay for my next meal
To one day die in a motor bus
To forever be enslaved
To the government that I once loved
To the freedom I had craved