My fighter jet is gliding through the sky.
I hate my enemy. I'm strong enough to kill.
I know — who, I know exatly — why.
I'm going to complete this fucking deal.
That's it! My target's coming right away.
I'm pushing trigger — two missiles are gone.
"I feel so sorry!",- all I have to say.
Just awful flames — the mission mostly done.
And metal is in my headphones so loud.
I'm gonna get some girls tonight and drinks.
Oh, killing's bad, but anyway I'm proud.
Yeah, war is shit and shit, as always, stinks.
See, I'm a pilot. Flying very high.
Sometimes I'm sad and even really cry.
One fucking day I'll definitely die.
But now I am gliding through the sky.
