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    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

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