How Many Secrets Can Dead Chickens Keep?

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Thel

The Tactical High-Energy Laser, or THEL, was a laser developed for military use, also known as the Nautilus laser system. The mobile version is the Mobile Tactical High-Energy Laser, or MTHEL. In 1996, the United States and Israel entered into an agreement to produce a cooperative THEL called the Demonstrator, which would utilize deuterium fluoride chemical laser technologies. In 2000 and 2001, THEL shot down 28 Katyusha artillery rockets and five artillery shells. On November 4, 2002, THEL shot down an incoming artillery shell. The prototype weapon was roughly the size of six city buses, made up of modules that held a command center, radar and a telescope for tracking targets, the chemical laser itself, fuel and reagent tanks, and a rotating mirror to reflec… more »

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How many secrets can dead chickens keep?
Caged in the cushions, poked by my knees
How many secrets do you need to know?
Before there's a reason, to stand up and go

Oh in dark rooms, in classrooms
Where one should be on feet
Not praying, and paying, and feeling
Oh so guilty (Guilty)
If you should see
What's become of me
You'll turn to a kettle when you hear
Could you keep quiet with an influenced tear
Juicing and orange without peeling its rind

And they'll make you, into a tomato soup can
With paper 'round the waist
So they can understand
And they'll make you, into a marmalade man
Watching sugar drip
Into my hand

How many finger strings should I make?
Just to remember what wasn't a mistake
How many more names do I need to hear?
Before I can muzzle, out all of the fear

Oh but you've got your reasons
There's a price to be paid
And I've made my bed, but I'm still tired
Everyday (Everyday)

But who's to say
Who's sad or gay
When you've got troubles of your own
Who'll be the first to cast the lot or the stone
Omnipotent insight before the tie is ripe

And they'll make you, into a tomato soup can
With paper 'round the waist
So they can understand
And they'll make you, into a marmalade man
Watching sugar drip
Into my hand

And so I ask myself
How many secrets can dead chickens keep?
Caged in a cushion, poked by my knees

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