| Who needs the young?
|
| The revelation of their faces and their hair
|
| When all we have are withered traces of the faces we once were
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| And suffocation in the dirty, fatal air
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| Who needs the young bodies floating in the sun?
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| Who needs the young?
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| The celebration of the races that they’ve have won
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| The sado-masochistic things they’ve never done — disgusting
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| And all the places that we never will have gone
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| Who needs the young bodies floating in the sun?
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| Who needs the young?
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| My eyes just aren’t what they were
|
| My eyes just aren’t what they were
|
| My eyes just aren’t what they were
|
| Is there anyone left who can see? |
| Blind him!
|
| My lips just aren’t what they were
|
| My lips just aren’t what they were
|
| My lips just aren’t what they were
|
| Is there anyone left who can kiss? |
| Spit on him!
|
| My mind just isn’t what it was
|
| My mind just isn’t what it was
|
| My mind just isn’t what it was
|
| Is there anyone left who can dream? |
| Wake him!
|
| My legs just aren’t what they were
|
| My legs just aren’t what they were
|
| My legs just aren’t what they were
|
| Is there anyone left who can dance? |
| Cripple him!
|
| My voice just isn’t what it was
|
| My voice just isn’t what it was
|
| My voice just isn’t what it was
|
| Is there anyone left who can sing? |
| Silence him!
|
| My sex just isn’t what is was
|
| My sex just isn’t what is was
|
| My sex just isn’t what is was
|
| Is there anyone left who can fuck? |
| Screw them!
|
| Who needs the young?
|
| The perfect star of flesh that never has to cry
|
| Who needs the filthy moaning passed from thigh to thigh?
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| Who needs the self-appointed prophets waving banners in the bloodshot sky
|
| Who needs the young when we’re spending all the rest of our wonderful lives
|
| learning to die! |