Lyrics: © Juliane Honisch, 1996 / Music: © Kerstin Dröge, 1996

Every Sunday I get stuck right in front the TV screen,
and with wonder I am struck at the marvels I am seein'.
Macchiavelli, what you found was no more than a preface.
Babylon turns round and round - I sit glued to my own place.

I'm a junkie!
But my drug is not what you might expect.
I am hooked!
Oh, I cannot be without it,
I cannot be without it evermore.

Good old Susan's special charm isn't diplomatic lately,
but to say she means no harm underestimates her greatly.
Mornings aren't quite her thing, won't rise when it's dark outside.
Lullabies her colleagues sing, waking is such sweet surprise!

Hairdressing becomes a challenge if it's a Centauri man's,
and to keep your hair in balance you must glue it till it stands.
But beware of this cute creature for his smile is lined with fangs.
All the Borgias were his teachers, in the darkness he found friends.


All my friends like me are viewing this bold fair of vanities,
and whatever we are doing, we won't miss the next release.
Videos are circling round us for those with no cable yet.
With excitement, Bab has bound us, has ensnared us in its net.

This is no sweet soppy series, here you never can be sure
that your favourite alien dearies aren't throwing out a lure.
And their goodness might not be what for granted you have taken,
nothing's safe as you will see, and your confidence gets shaken.


People might not be the same after a new episode.
Trust becomes a lotto game in this spinning star abode.
Extras just as well as leads might get killed or maimed or hurt,
what will happen to them is not announced by a red shirt.

One thing's worried me for long: What will happen, will there be
a life after Babylon, if there's nothing more to see?
Will withdrawal symptoms make us poor helpless, jittering fen?
Right after the final take
what - oh what shall we do then??