Текст Charlene Soraia – Tragic Youth

Must I commit my tragic youth to history
Am I not still to recall when I need
In my lonely hours they wonder like a vicious mystery
Can I rewrite the tale that often makes me travel blindly

My younger years were often spent in silence
Lest my wooden friends felt estranged
We entangled ourselves in thoughts of freedom’s violence
And bottled the brew of our strangest thoughts, deranged

Delinquent little darlings we were not
We said the right things to keep us all off
The hook that don’t exist no more

Soon you will be called for the unknowing
Nobody will miss you when you’re gone
You may come back a shell of your former self
But obedient you will become with love

Delinquent little darlings we were not
We said the right things to get us all off
The hook that don’t exist no more

B.B gets what he wants
When he needs what he wants
What he feeds us all from
Don’t bite that hand of Zion

Come come come come come comrades
Our Big Brother loves us much
Come come come come come comrades
Our Big Brother loves us much more than those
Old fashioned mothers

Delinquent little darlings we were not
We said the right things to get us all off
The hook that don’t exist no more

Cause B.B gets what he wants
When he needs what he wants
What he feeds us all from
Don’t bite that hand of Zion

The lions den
Bionic Zionic men