i have no overcoat,
no secret overthrow,
no cypher for his code.
Here's the Rachmaninoff,
Shivago,
and i'll pour the Stolichnaya.
O Elza, inside this freezing drift
if our breath becomes steam
and our hands span iron curtains
and steely monuments do rise,
where do i hide when sovereign walls fall crashing?
why are mausoleums built - but to house the dead?
O Elza! The cold will bind my heart!
I swear, a warm lake lies
under this icy lot.
This Red Square
is on fire!
I know a raging river lies beneath it!
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