Sacred Cowboys Lyrics - Balls To Picasso - 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 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 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 

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 

[spoken:] 

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 

Lying in their bed together 

You can be the savior 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 cowboys 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 

There is no john wayne 

Where's our sacred cowboys 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