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...