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

 They leave the ones they love the way they found them

 A normal person must

 Dismiss you with disgust

 And weep for those who trusted you

 THE RUSSIAN:

 Nothing you have said

 Is revelation

 Take my blues as read

 My consolation --

 Finding out at last my one true obligation

 SVETLANA & CROWD:

 Listen to them shout!

 They saw you do it

 In their minds no doubt

 That you've been through it

 Suffered for your art but

 In the end a winner

 Who could not be stirred?

 Such dedication

 We have never heard

 Such an ovation

 Skill and guts a model

 For the young beginner

 They're completely enchanted

 But they don't take your qualities for granted

 It isn't very often

 That the critics soften

 Nonetheless you've won their hearts

 How can we begin to

 Appreciate the work that you've put into

 Your calling through the years

 The blood, the sweat and tears, the

 Late late nights, the early starts

 There they go again!

 Your deeds inflame them

 Drive them wild, but then

 Who wants to tame them?

 If they want a part of you

 Who'd really blame them?

 THE RUSSIAN:

 And so you're letting me know --

 SVETLANA:

 For you're the only one who's never suffered anything at all

 THE RUSSIAN:

 How you've hated my success --

 SVETLANA:

 Well I won't crawl --

 And you can slink back to your pawns and to your tarts

 THE RUSSIAN:

 And every poisoned word shows that you never understood

 Never!

 SVETLANA:

 Liar!

 BOTH:

 Nothing you have said

 Is revelation

 Take my blues as read

 My consolation --

 SVETLANA:

 Finding out that I'm my only obligation

 THE RUSSIAN:

 Is there no-one in my life

 Who does not claim

 The right to steal

 My work, my name

 My success, my fame

 And my freedom?