Man Of Sorrows - 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.

A 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.

Wondering why, wondering why...

A man of sorrows racked, with thoughts that dare not speak their name.

Trapped inside a body, made to feel only guilt and shame.

His anger all his life - "I hate myself!", he cried.

"Do what thou bwilt! - do what thou wilt!", he cried.