Young Lions

Hot tribal night
 Underneath fluorescent skies
 Bonfires rage strange
 Wild, waving, shouting Picasso faces
 In the guise of a lioness
 The wind kisses her burning dress
 You can feel her animal eyes
 You can hear them cry
 "Be the jewel around my neck,
 Never a tear on my burning dress."
 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."
 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."