Hot tribal night
|
underneath florescent skies
|
bonfires rage
|
strange wild waving shouting
|
Picasso faces
|
In the guise of a lioness
|
the wind kisses
|
her burning dress
|
you can fell her animal eyes
|
you can hear them cry
|
Be the jewel around my neck
|
never a tear on my burning dress
|
<Interlude>
|
Lying, paralyzed
|
a brave prey who lays dying
|
and is surrounded
|
by angry spirits
|
hunters, guns, drums
|
and elephants
|
Why is this night quiet
|
filled with trees
|
filled with eyes
|
as she prowls around my feet
|
she throws back
|
her head dress and cries
|
Now you will be mine
|
be my young lion
|
<Interlude>
|
Why is this night quiet
|
why the trees filled with eyes
|
as she prowls around my feet
|
she throws back
|
her head dress and cries
|
Be my young lion
|
|
-----------------
|
Young Lions
|
| Adrian Belew |
