Bruce Dickinson

(woo, hey)
Mira, mira, mira, andale, andale, yeah-ow!
[spoken:]
With a sense of irony, everyone you see
Is chasing their illusions
Take a dive, or sink, or swim
But in the end youre 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 youll be the hero...ecstasy
The cult of me provides our institutions
You can live forever with 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 wont 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
But where is our john wayne?
Wheres our sacred cowboy now?
Where are the indians on the hill?
Theres no indians left to kill
[spoken:]
People die with oxygen
And all their money cant afford a breath
People starving everywhere