You know, these guys don't look too hot

Up on that serrated ridge under
the soft moonlight glow, I
watch in silence as the patrol rolls past
and ready my sniper, my baby.
You know, these guys don't look too hot.
We’ll hit them in the back
and leave them to dry in the sand.

Losing on scratchcards under
the old corner store’s halogen lamps, I
watch our so-called heroes through a window
and I know it’s just about over, again.
They’re really not looking so hot.
My brothers never made it home
but it’s time for me to leave it too.

Coffee getting cold on my desk under
the whirr of my high-power ceiling fan, I
watch pixelated lines dip and go red,
and think about the evening, the weekend.
These guys really aren't doing that hot.
Good thing we already shorted them
before the army rolled in.