Child is slowly taken
And the violence caused such silence
Who are we mistaken
It's not my family
In your head, in your
head they are fighting
With their tanks and their bombs
And their bombs and their guns
In your head
In your head they are cryin'
Zombie
What's in your head, in your head
Zombie
Heart is taking over
When the violence causes silence
We must be mistaken
It's the same old theme since 1916
In your head,
In your head they're still fightin'
With their tanks
In your head they are dyin'
Zombie
What's in your head, in your head
Zombie
Who controls the key?
The web we weave is thick and sordid,
Fine by me.
There's no victory.
We'll shoot to kill and kill your lover,
Fine by me.
Plant the seed, teritorial greed.
Mind the war child.
We should mind the warchild.
He was sleeping on the streets, and homeless.
He said, 'I fought in Vietnam.'
Beneath his shirt he wore the mark.
He bore the mark with pride.
A two inch deep insicion carved into his side.
Plant the seed, teritorial greed.
Mind the war child.
We should mind the warchild.
Who's the loser now, eh?
We're all the losers now,
We're all the losers now.
Warchild, warchild.
Life was so unfair.
We live in our secure surroundings,
And people die out there.
Sarajevo changed my mind.
All the love we need isn't there.
And we all sing songs in our room
Sarajevo erects another tomb
Bosnia, was so unkind.
Sarajevo, Sarajevo, Sarajevo,
Bosnia was so unkind.
No fear for children anymore.
There are babies in their beds,
Terror in their heads. For the love of life!
When do the saints go marching in?
When do the saints go marching in?
When do the saints go marching in?
Traboo, Traboo, Traboo...
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Power chords, hard-hitting lyrics, and an unmistakable passion define this supergroup from Ireland.
Zombie
Another head hangs lowly
But you see it's not me,
In your head
Another mother's breakin'
In your head, in your head
From "No Need to Argue" (1994)
War Child
Who will save the war child baby?
At times of war, we're all the losers,
War child, victom of political pride.
I spent last winter in New York, and came upon a man.
War child, victom of political pride.
Who's the loser now, eh?
From "To the Faithful Departed" (1996)
Bosnia
I would like to state my vision.
Bosnia was so unkind.
And we all call out in despair.
Sarajevo, Sarajevo, Sarajevo, Sarajevo,
I'm sure things would change if we really wanted them to,
When do the saints go marching in?
Rummmpatitum, Rummmpatitum...
From "To the Faithful Departed" (1996)
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