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.

Lyrics submitted by mickey01

Better (Hangar No. 9 Part 1) song meanings
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