The Game

When a time-out our Ed requires from the tour
He knows there’s a place he can go to, he’s sure
That short sweet vacation will cheer him right up
Will get him refreshed and as fit as a pup

He does need no plane which will take him away
A walk to his cellar and there he will stay
Our Ed’s getting ready while Brucey his friend
In his preparations will lend him a hand

The room’s getting darker, the hinges they creak
His sinews are prickling, and Eddie must squeak
So tight, so confined, cannot budge, cannot move
This passive perversion of passionate groove

A million demons are biting his skin
So tiny, so vicious, they pierce, they get in
He’s helpless, he’s willing, the pain so intense
The senseless sweet torture makes Ed lose his sense

The hinges are creaking, the pressure’s released
Ed opens his eyes now the torment has ceased
He looks down his body, like roses so red
He sighs all contented, his look torn and sad:

“No holiday’s better than the bittersweet sting
That my beloved Iron Maiden can bring”

(written on July 3rd 2004)


and a third smashing pic by CSPT2