Bruce Dickinson
Here, in a church, a small boy is kneeling
He prays to a god he does not know, he cannot feel
All of his sins of childhood he will remember
He will not cry, tears he will not cry
Man of sorrows, I won't see your face
Man of sorrows, you left without a trace
His small boy wonders, what was it all about?
Is your journey over - has it just begun?
Vision of a new world from the ashes of the old
"Do what thou wilt!", he screams from his cursed soul
A tortured seer, a prophet of our emptiness ...