Texty: Soundtrack Artists. The Spirit Of Man.

PARSON: Listen, do you hear them drawing near in their search for the
sinners?
Feeding on the power of our fear and the evil within us
Incarnation of Satan's creation of all that we dread
When the demons arrive those alive would be better off dead!

BETH: There must be something worth living for
There must be something worth trying for
Even some things worth dying for
And if one man can stand tall
There must be hope for us all
Somewhere, somewhere, in the spirit of man

PARSON: Once there was a time when I believed without hesitation
That the power of love and truth could conquer all in the name of salvation
Tell me what kind of weapon is love, when it comes to the fight
And just how much protection is truth against all Satan's might

BETH: There must be something worth living for
There must be something worth trying for
Even some things worth dying for
And if one man can stand tall
There must be some hope for us all
Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man

People loved you and trusted you, came to you for help

PARSON: Didn't I warn them this would happen?
Be on guard, I said.
For the Evil One never rests.
I said exorcise the devil.
But no, they wouldn't listen.
The demons inside them grew and grew.
Until Satan gave his signal.
And destroyed the world we knew.

BETH: No, Nathaniel
Oh no Nathaniel!
No, Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The love we used to know
Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The light that we have lost

PARSON: Now darkness has descended on our land and all your prayers cannot save us

Like fools we've let the devil take command of the souls that God gave us

To the altar of evil like lambs to the slaughter we're led
When the demons arrive, the survivors will envy the dead!

BETH: There must be something worth living for

PARSON: No, there is nothing!

BETH: There must be something worth trying for

PARSON: I don't believe it's so

BETH: Even some things worth dying for
If just one man could stand tall
There would be some hope for us all
Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man

PARSON: Forget about goodness and mercy - they're gone.
Didn't I warn them...
Pray I said.
Destroy the devil, I said...
They wouldn't listen.
I could have saved the world.
But now it's too late.
Too late!!!

BETH: No, Nathaniel
Oh no, Nathaniel
No, Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The love we used to know


Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The light that we have lost

PARSON: Dear God! A cylinder's landed on the house! And we're underneath it - in the
pit!

JOURNALIST: The Martians spent the night making a new machine. It was a squat,
metallic spider with huge articulated claws - but it, too, had a hood in which a Martian
sat. I watched it pursuing some people across a field. It caught them nimbly and tossed
them into a great metal basket upon its back.

PARSON: Beth! She's dead! Buried under the rubble. Why?
Satan! Why did you take one of your own?
There is a curse on Mankind.
We may as well be resigned.
To let the devil, the devil take the spirit of man

JOURNALIST: As time passed in our dark and dusty prison, the Parson wrestled
endlessly with his doubts. His outcries invited death for us both - and yet I pitied him.

Then, on the ninth day, we saw the Martians eating. Inside the hood of their new
machine, they were draining the fresh, living blood of men and women and injecting it
into their own veins.

PARSON: It's a sign! I've been given a sign! They must be cast out and I have been
chosen to do it. I must confront them now!

JOURNALIST: No, Parson, no!

PARSON: Those machines are just demons in another form! I shall destroy them with
my prayers! I shall burn them with my Holy Cross! I shall -

JOURNALIST: The curious eye of a Martian appeared at the window-slit,
and a menacing claw explored the room. I dragged the Parson down to the coal
cellar. I heard the Martian fumbling at the latch. In the darkness I could see the claw
touching things, walls, coal, wood, - and then it touched my boot! I almost shouted! For
a time it was still and then, with a click, it gripped something. The Parson! With slow,
deliberate movements, his unconscious body was dragged away... and there was nothing
I could do to prevent it.

I crept to the blocked window-slit and peered through the creeper. The Martians and all
their machinery had gone! Trembling, I dug my way out and clambered to the top of the
mound. Not a Martian in sight! The day seemed dazzling bright after my imprisonment,
and the sky a glowing blue. Red Weed covered every scrap of ground, but a gentle
breeze kept it swaying and oh! the sweetness of the air!

JOURNALIST: Again, I was on my way to London, through towns and villages that
were blackened ruins, totally silent, desolate, deserted. Man's empire had passed away,
taken swiftly and without error, by these creatures who were composed entirely of
brain. Unhampered by the complex systems which make up man, they made and used
different bodies according to their needs. They never tired, never slept and never
suffered, having long since eliminated from their planet the bacteria which cause all
fevers and other morbidities.

ARTILLERYMAN: Halt! Who goes there?

JOURNALIST: Er - friend.

ARTILLERYMAN: Be on your way. This is my territory.

JOURNALIST: Your territory? What do you mean?

ARTILLERYMAN: Wait a minute - it's you! The man from Maybury Hill!

JOURNALIST: Good heavens! The Artilleryman! I thought you surely burned.

ARTILLERY MAN: I thought you surely drowned.

JOURNALIST: Have you seen any Martians?

ARTILLERYMAN: Everywhere. We're done for all right.

JOURNALIST: We can't just give up.

ARTILLERYMAN: Course we can't. It's now we've got to start fighting - but not
against them 'cos we can't win. Now we've got to fight for survival, and I reckon we can
make it. I've got a plan.