General Crossing

Jethro Tull

It's an old profession
  of subtle artillery.
Rough wheels meshing ---
  button out, button in.

The tall General will mine
  a few bridges tonight,
  stroking soft machinery.
Fanfare at dawn
  courting green steel
  lined up for World War One
  (Two, Three, Four).

It's an old profession
  of subtle artillery.
Rough wheels meshing ---
  on a landscape with no trees.

The tall General points
  to the distance ---
  disconnects his power supply.
Writes a stiff note to his nearest
  and dearest ---
  he takes the battle plan
  and contemplates his fly.

The tall General
  flies by the seat of history.
The tall General
  is crossing.
The tall General
  he thinks inevitability.
The tall General
  is definitely crossing.
With spit and with polish ---
  time for desperate measures.
The pain in the forehead
  from holding up to the pressures
  of life on the rim
  of the convenient alliance.
Out on the rim ---
  let me out on the rim.

The tall General will walk
  across the compound
  with his briefcase and I.D.
Later they'll post him
  seemingly missing ---
  he's gone to be a Generalski.
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