Magica - Reprise

And the games 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 it's on we sail
Never thinking that the wind could ever fail
No one gets to heaven till they're lived awhile 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 infection.
Delete, delete, delet, delet, delete