| Song | 2 Minutes to Midnight |
| Artist | Joe Lynn Turner |
| Album | Numbers From The Beast: An All-Star Tribute To Iron Maiden |
| Iron Maiden - 2 Minutes To Midnight | |
| Kill for gain or shoot to maim | |
| But we don＇t need a reason | |
| The Golden Goose is on the loose | |
| And never out of Season. | |
| Some blackened pride still burns inside | |
| This shell of bloody treason | |
| Here＇s my gun for a barrel of fun | |
| For the love of living death | |
| The killer＇s breed or the Deamon＇s seed, | |
| The glamour, the fortune, the pain, | |
| Go to war again, blood is freedom＇s stain, | |
| But don＇t you pray for my soul anymore. | |
| 2 minutes to midnight, | |
| The hands that threaten doom. | |
| 2 minutes to midnight, | |
| To kill the unborn in the womb. | |
| The blind men shout let the creatures out | |
| We＇ll show the unbelievers, | |
| The Napalm screams of human flames | |
| Of a prime time Belsen feast...YEAH! | |
| As the reasons for the carnage cut their meat | |
| and lick the gravy, | |
| We oil the jaws of the war machine | |
| and feed it with our babies. | |
| The body bags and little rags of children torn in two, | |
| And the jellied brains of those who remain | |
| to put the finger right on you. | |
| As the Madmen play on words and make us all | |
| dance to their song, | |
| To the tune of starving millions | |
| to make a better kind of gun. | |
| Midnight | |
| Midnight...all night... |
| Iron Maiden 2 Minutes To Midnight | |
| Kill for gain or shoot to maim | |
| But we don t need a reason | |
| The Golden Goose is on the loose | |
| And never out of Season. | |
| Some blackened pride still burns inside | |
| This shell of bloody treason | |
| Here s my gun for a barrel of fun | |
| For the love of living death | |
| The killer s breed or the Deamon s seed, | |
| The glamour, the fortune, the pain, | |
| Go to war again, blood is freedom s stain, | |
| But don t you pray for my soul anymore. | |
| 2 minutes to midnight, | |
| The hands that threaten doom. | |
| 2 minutes to midnight, | |
| To kill the unborn in the womb. | |
| The blind men shout let the creatures out | |
| We ll show the unbelievers, | |
| The Napalm screams of human flames | |
| Of a prime time Belsen feast... YEAH! | |
| As the reasons for the carnage cut their meat | |
| and lick the gravy, | |
| We oil the jaws of the war machine | |
| and feed it with our babies. | |
| The body bags and little rags of children torn in two, | |
| And the jellied brains of those who remain | |
| to put the finger right on you. | |
| As the Madmen play on words and make us all | |
| dance to their song, | |
| To the tune of starving millions | |
| to make a better kind of gun. | |
| Midnight | |
| Midnight... all night... |