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."