You once sent me a postcard from your trip to Paris
There was a bunch of soldiers - sitting in ruins
In 1812 in Moscow
The russians burned their city down
To stop napoleon from taking their homes
The smell of smoke an iron was lingering in the air
And the night sky slipped into its dress of sanguine
Was it really worth it, Mr. Bonaparte?
When you saw those bodys lying in the dirt
Are you one of them?
all rights reserved