The reticle drifts with my breathing
Laid over armed men in black
Who came to burn out my neighbor
Over a five-dollar tax

Eleven of them, two of us
My rifle and I have allied
One round looks through the barrel
And ten more are ready to light

The tax-men have modern weapons
Mine is ancient Comblock surplus
But the odds were worse in Warsaw ghetto
And I get to chose when to start

A chevron in red stops wavering
Over the last JBT in the stack
I pray that my steel-cored bullets
Won't stop for his Kevlar vest

Someday they will learn from errors
And post snipers on the perimeter
But these eleven are arrogant men
And maybe I'll manage to kill them

As the hand with grenade cocks back
As the ram swings to batter the door
I drop the hammer on one of them
Balaclava on his head explodes

The flashbang falls from his warm dead hand
The stack stays in front of the door
They rake the house with panicked bursts
But confusion won't last long

The neighbors stay down, not firing back
Trying to stay alive
But the enemy rather not see them in court
And corpses can't testify

Another report, and a storm trooper falls
Only nine left for me to do
But they turn as a unit and form skirmish line
And I know that I am screwed

Later tonight they will sift through debris
Through ashes of burned-out homes
Reflect on what they accomplished
Resolve to use tanks from then on

In brutal engagement they'll test their might
And innocent people will die in the nights
But sooner or later we'll learn and get strong
To them we will carry the fight

Someday war will end, with their last stand
And then we will try the survivors
Just like in Nuremberg, on orders they'll blame
Crimes committed against humanity