| And the games still go on | |
| With a warning to the bishop from the pawn | |
| No one sees an angel | |
| Till it smashes to the ground | |
| And then you run somewhere | |
| And leave it lying there | |
| Then on we sail | |
| Never thinking that the wind could ever fail | |
| No one gets to heaven | |
| Till they've lived a while in hell | |
| And even then it's rare | |
| That you'll be going there | |
| Aliens: Now we understand. All traces of Magica must be eliminated. Infection. Infection. Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete, delete, delete, delete, delete... |
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