Bruce Dickinson

Holy was the preacher
Riding on his rig of steel in the rising sun
This was no grim reaper
But a man with a smile who took a pride in a job well done
Oooh, in a blood-red sunrise
Hes preaching conversion as you lay down and die
(die)
Just a god-given holy roller
In a god-forsaken land
He didnt choose this killing ground
He didnt want this scrap of land
Hes gonna scorch the earth (yeah)
And make the rivers run dry
Until we learn to hate like him
Oh, kill for killing, yeah; live to die
Ride on, you son of a gun
Ride on, ride into the setting sun
Ride on, you son of a gun (yeah)
Ride on, you son of a gun
Ride on, ride into the setting sun
Ride on, you son of a gun
You gotta be a hero
For one last time
To prove through your destruction
Killing is a great way of life
Theres a wooden cross somewhere
Where theyll bury you down deep
You lie to your people - you lie to yourself
Youre in love with death, man, youve got no shame
Ride on, you son of a gun