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Bullet The Blue Sky - Live From Mexico City 1997 Lyrics

Found On:

PopMart Live From Mexico City (1998)

Note: U2 has released different versions of most singles in different countries. We are not showing every cover image in this space, just one that's representative of each release.



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"I was angry with what I saw as the bullying of peasant farmers by big aeroplanes supported by American foreign policy and dollars. In Nicaragua, seventeen families ran the country before the revolution; all of the wealth was in the hands of those seventeen families. In Salvador it had been similar. In Chile, a democratic choice had been overthrown by a CIA-backed coupe to impose a killing machine called General Pinochet. There was a lot to despise about America back then, there was shameful conduct int he defence of their self-interest... They were bad times. I had described what I had been through, what I had seen, some of the stories of people I had met, and I said to Edge: 'Could you put that through your amplifier?'" - Bono, U2 By U2 2006

Yep
In the howling wind comes a stinging rain
See it driving nails into souls on the tree of pain
From the firefly, a red orange glow
I see a face of fear, it's running scared in the valley below

The sky
The sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky

In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel and the angel was overcome
You plant a demon seed, you raise a flower of fire
See them burning crosses, see the flames, higher and higher

The sky
The sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky
Bullet the blue sky

Run over to you, Roy Lichtenstein

See, this guy comes up to me
His face red like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colours of a royal flush
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four
I can see the fighter planes
I can see the fighter planes
Across the alleys, the quiet city streets
Across the tin huts and the Sarotista's sleep
Through the keys I unlock the door
Up the staircase to the first floor
A man breathes into a saxophone
Through the walls we hear the city groan
Outside it's America
Outside it's America
America, America