Interpret:

Bruce Dickinson

Album:

Balls To Picasso

With a sense of irony everyone you see is chasing their illusions 
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 with a grave that stands where people used to function 
You can join the saviours 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 


But where is our John Wayne 
Where’s our sacred cowboy now? 
Where are the indians on the hill? 
There’s no indians left to kill 


People die with oxygen and all their money can’t 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 saviour of the poor making up the policies to open up the back door... 


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’s our sacred cowboy now? 
Where are the indians on the hill? 
There’s no indians left to kill 


Where is our John Wayne 
Where’s our sacred cowboy now? 
Where are the indians on the hill? 
There’s no indians left to kill 


You can get all the things you never needed 
You can sell people crap and make them eat it...eat it! 


Where is our John Wayne 
Where’s our sacred cowboy now? 
Where are the indians on the hill? 
There’s no indians left to kill 


Where is our John Wayne 
Where’s our sacred cowboy now? 
Where are the indians on the hill? 
There’s no indians left to...kill...