Bruce DickinsonSacred Cowboys

With sense of irony, everyone You see is chasing their illusion Take a dive or sink or swim But in the end You're in the same pollution In your world escape is swift The nonsense list Is all you need to know In the land of dreams You make the right connections Then you'll be the hero Ecstasy The cult of me provides Our institutions You can live forever Besides a grave that stands Where people used to function You can join The saviors of our culture Vultures circling Overhead my sky Like the sin of gluttony Won't set you free (But Betty Ford can help you try) You can get all the things You never needed You can sell people crap And make them eat it Where is our John Wayne Where is our sacred cowboys now? Where are the Indians on the hill There's no Indians left to kill People die with oxygen And all their money Can afford a breath People starving everywhere And staring in the face of death Prostitutes and politicians Laying in their beds together You can be the savior Of the poor Making up the policies To open the back door © 2015