Deep in the belly of a bird of prey, I'll cross half the world in a half a day, born to fly in skies red as rage, and I lit the fire of the Atomic Age. Death in flight when the Eagle screams, and the boom shakes down from the edge of my wings; if death don't bring you fear, then death is coming off my leash. Come to the nightmare, come to me, to the edge of the black where the 'nether be to the wolves of the wind with a bloody shriek, come snap the chain,
cry "wake the beast!" There, in the burned and blackened ash, another enemy, dead, in the fire's breath. Smoke in the open wind won't last, the shadow of death is the one I cast.