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I, I tell you now the summer's dry |
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I sweat my brow and wipe my hair when |
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I do I could wear a shirt and tie everyday |
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The diamond eyes are not the treasure they say |
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Where's the "Catcher in the Rye" anyway |
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O the tragedy |
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Young rebels in their glory - misunderstood |
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Such a calamity |
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It's obvious the babes do steal the wood |
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Another angry young man they say |
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So sad that he lost his way |
|
Another angry young man they say |
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O the youth how they drift away |
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I, I tell you now the summer's high |
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The forward cast of windswept dreams in the air |
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I will run close to the edge - every time |
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Between the wedge there lies a passion that's born |
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I said a passion that's born - born |
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O the tragedy |
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Of unsung heroes searching for their cause |
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Such a calamity |
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The unrequited rebel without applause |
|
Another angry young man they say |
|
So sad that he lost his way |
|
Another angry young man they say |
|
O the youth how they drift away |
|
O the tragedy |
|
Young rebels in their glory - misunderstood |
|
Such a calamity |
|
It's obvious the babes do steal the wood |
|
Another angry young man they say |
|
So sad that he lost his way |
|
Another angry young man they say |
|
O the youth how they drift away, say |
|
Another angry young man they say |
|
I, I tell you now the summer's dry |
|
I tell you now the summer's dry. |
