Never dreamt of a nuclear shower

And never scraped the flesh from skin and bone

Last call for a soviet summer

The last call

This onslaught won't back down

From fear, cold, everlasting pain:

Insane, hysteria, is all that still remains inside the voices left for dead

Born in black and white through government

When wanting less means breaching fuckin' more

And trying all the while to lose the score

Red plans followed by shadows

Middle fingers curled back in shaking fists

In Petersburg the death is still living

In Petersburg their stories moulding myths:

This must be hell 'cause sides don't count, our options out