As though a bad movie
You paid for the ticket
Now to endure it to the finish
Before you fall asleep
There is no glory in banter
Slogans, speeches, songs sung
It's all the same old bunk spewed
All for one, and none for all
Uniforms and government grand
Parades and famine go hand in hand
Red, the colour of blood, of others
Holidays to Siberia's laborious resorts
Like snakes slithering up silently
Stealthfully they sneak in slowly
While the music's playing distracts
In the midst of hoopla thundering
Then the rats come out to play
They hear and squeak of rumours
That none can stand up or speak still
Lest the gulag's capacity be filled
So men must labour, labour hard
For that utopian lie so very grand
While all else failing, misery understands
Starving bellies growling accompanies the band
Koba, hear my words, hear the masses
A tyrant was within, freedom without
No bread to dirty a broken plate
Gruel, a feast on a farm bountiful
Where share in the great revolution
Trampled upon by ambitious men
Where it was for the good of all
Call me Tishka that I might be well
Now the gulag doors swing rusty
Cells searching for occupants afar
The labour camps but roadside signage
Bland reminders devoid of carnage
Koba, remember Uncle Ilya...
All those who were slain, or sent off
Far from Mother Russia, from home
Where walls stand to keep a nation in
A legacy that is kept under sod
Like a mistake beneath a rug of green
Communism, for the suffered masses
A hammer and sickle to smash the soul