Better (Hangar No. 9 Part 1) Songtext

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Large cold metal doors, the distinct smell of mildew. Smaller door left open, the distinct feeling somebody's watching.

And I know better, than this.

One small biplane, Russian-made, fuel's just been topped off. Could she be the cargo? Could she be captured by Russians?

I must act quickly, I shouldn't be around here. I shouldn't be, found here. I cut the fuel line, and then I hear... footsteps behind me.