High above, the dragon circles,
Slowly, 'round and 'round.
With plumes of smoke, with fetid breath,
Its voice an angry growl -
Brilliant streams of fiery death,
Undulating down -
Find their mark, and mortal flesh,
Lies dead upon the ground.
Soggy now, the thirsty ground,
Drinks up the crimson pools -
The wasted blood of wasted men,
Who fight the wars of fools.
The angry growl is heard once more,
The dragon turns away -
The fiery death churns up the ground
Where wasted men in death now lay.
Flying low, its malevolent eye,
Looking ever down -
Puff, the angry dragon,
Searches the angry ground -
To waste the blood of wasted men
To lie in crimson pools -
The bodies of the little men
Who fight the wars of fools.
The dragon, to its lair then soars,
To rest upon the ground -
The night is done, one skirmish won;
It utters not a sound.
Night again; the dragon soars
Above the angry ground -
Her crew seeks out the furtive men:
Their purpose to confound.
For Puff, the Magic Dragon,
Of war is but a tool -
For men defending freedom:
To waste the blood of wasted men,
Who fight the wars of fools.
Dedicated to the men who flew the angry skies
of Viet Nam, and all airmen who fight
Freedoms' wars, everywhere.