Young Lions - Stewart Copeland, Adrian Belew, Mark King

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 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»