It's a foreign land but a familiar street, red broken teeth and alabaster snow; I remember it fondly.
Sober winter and blue cloth; I still see us there. I'm almost certain, that St. Petersburg questioned our youth. just a little closer "Dance with me, Kirusha?" Always
All those years ago, and we still drink up this disease. The sour love of iron and wine with shots of homesickness. Russian rouge American Dream "Why did you have to leave?"
I ache to recall it, because those gates still leak with cold. This value withers in the white noise; "Don't you ******* dare say that his death was just an experiment." 'You failure'
I sought it, the ribbons of old confidence while the stars looked on from their chairs. I never found what I was looking for.
Go ahead and criticize; the way we baptized my betrayal. Knot up all the love you wasted and send it overseas.
All that matters to me, Romichka is that Death paid no mind to you.
Ruby apples at my doorstep flowers that need blood instead of water. A sense of hunger in this forsaken city does not comfort me.
I just suppose I've been thinkin' too much And the bitterness let itself in again.
So when you find the time, Write whatever's left of me in the fire; along with all the other things. ...