Walking through the road of bones, on the way to Gulag,
Sleep by the sleepers, till you are just leftovers.
Making way for the ferrous wheels, mean machines,
The Red Tsar is still a reverend, Sukhois fly by.
Witness the northern winds, take a time lapse,
Stare at the Kremlin, wonder what Putin's doing?

Deserts of  different shades to the opposites,
Unsaid and unclaimed they rule the north.
The lost Soyuz men in the space, still a mystery,
Few hundreds revolve with little hope and air.
Uncle Sam's contender from time immemorial,
Its a mystic land, Keeps you wondering of it.