| Lyrics: | Benny Andersson, Tim Rice, and Bjorn Ulvaeus
CHOIR:
Morphy, Anderson, Steinitz, Lasker,
Capablanca, Alekhine, Euwe,
Botvinnik, Smyslov, Tal, Petrosian, Spassky, Fischer, Karpov
MOLOKOV:
How straightforward the game
When one has trust in one's player
And how
great the relief
Working for one who believes in
Loyalty, heritage, true to his kind come
what may
THE AMERICAN:
Though it gives me no joy
Adding to your satisfaction
You
can safely assume
Your late unlamented employee
Knows if he wins then the only thing won
is the chess
MOLOKOV:
It's the weak who accept
Tawdry untruths about freedom
Prostituting themselves
Chasing a spurious starlight
Trinkets in airports sufficient to
lead them astray
FLORENCE:
Does the player exist
In any human endeavour
Who's
been know to resist
Sirens of fame and possessions?
They will destroy you, not rivals, not
age, not success
THE RUSSIAN:
They all think they see a man
Who doesn't know
Which move to make
Which way to go
Whose private life
Caused his decline
Wrecked
his grand design
Some are vicious, some are fools
And others blind
To see in me
One of their kind
Anyone can be
A husband, lover
Sooner them than me
When they
discover
Their domestic bliss is
Shelter for their failing
Nothing could be
worse
Than self-denial
Having to rehearse
The endless trial
Of a partner's
rather sad
Demands prevailing
SVETLANA:
As you watch yourself caring
About a
minor sporting triumph, sharing
Your win with esoterics,
Paranoids, hysterics
Who
don't pay any attention to
What goes on around them-aca |
