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 awhile in hell

And even then it's rare
That you'll be going there


Now we understand. All traces of Magica must be eliminated.
Infection. Infection. Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete,
delete delete delete delete...