Twas the night before Maiden

And Charlotte in her brothel, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long summer’s nap‍—‌When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew with no fear,
Tore open the shutters, and drank a quick beer.
The moon on the breasts of the new new girl there,
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects aware;
When, what to my wondering eyes should showy,
But a 747 plane, and eight tiny roadies,
With a little old driver, so lively and dead,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Ed.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now! Harris, now! Rod, now! Gers and Murray,
“On! Bruce, on! Adrian, on! Nicko and I Eddie;
“Run to the hills ! To the top of the wall!
“Now invade! Invade! Invade them all!”
As fire flies to the sky like wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the stage though the concourse they flew,
With the guitars tuned up and Nicko’s drums sticks too:
And then in a speaker, I heard from the stage
The work of the roadies getting ready to engage.
As I drew up my head, and was turning around,
Up to the stage St Eddie came with a bound:
He was dress’d in denim & leather, from his head to his foot,
And his band mates were ready to rock us until we go caput;
A bundle of sticks and picks was flung on his back,
And he look’d like Eddie ready for an attack:
His eyes‍—‌how they twinkled! His dimples: so scary,
Eddie is decisive so you better be merry;
His evil little mouth was drawn up like a wow,
And his long shoulder hair was as white as the snow;
The stump of a knife he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a skinny ass face and a site that would fright,
He glimmered in the lights and his Maiden shirt so bright:
He was scary at first but then he reset himself,
And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill’d all the microphones; then turn’d with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And speaking to Rod, UP THE IRONS they rose.
He sprung stage left and gave Maiden a whistle,
And they all hit the stage, like a ballistic missile:
But I heard him exclaim, as he ran out of sight‍—‌

Up the Irons to all, and to all a good night.