Текст: Bruce Dickinson. Accident Of Birth. Arc Of Space.

There, on a lonely desert hilltop
The pilgrims huddle closer
Waiting for a sign, the coming silver shrine
The arc of space and time

Truth, oh, the truth is never clear
Perhaps again next year
The hope lives on beneath the blazing sun
One day you'll come

In my heart I reach you
In my heart I reach out to you
In my heart I touch the face of god
In my dreams somehow

In my heart I reach you
In my heart I reach out to you
In my heart I touch the face of god
It's all a dream

In my heart I reach you
In my heart I reach out to you
In my heart I touch the face of god
It's all a dream, somehow

Truth, oh, the truth is never clear
Perhaps again next year
The hope lives on beneath the blazing sun
One day you'll come