Bruce Dickinson Firechild
From the golden brow of a morning hill
The shadows rise in the early still
The earth is cracked and the dust is cold
The embers glow and the fire is old
Mountains in the sky,
Lightning cracks the night
Shivering in the cold till the morning light
I know this time around,
I'm traveling on holy ground
I've robbed the ghosts,
I've heard the sound
So i ride on into the sun
With the shadows of the deeds
That were done
I can't imagine what it was to be alive
The magic is still in the hills
Watch the firechild grow
Riding on the wind,
Burning through your heart
The parliament indian mission
Slowly rips apart
Promises made, then willows laid
And the world was thrown
From the barrel of a gun