The road to Yalta


We’re just three little boys

In this wonderland

Measuring up our tank and gun

Talking in fake voices; oh what fun

It’s the great game of our times

I hope you understand

So let’s cut through the lies

Why won’t you show your hand?

He’s vile that kid

Who rose up from the Rhine

In his wave of destruction

Our fate is along that line

But he ain’t a saint That Man

Preaching a new reality

And then there’s Uncle Joe

God damn his ideology

Now we’re blowing up smoke

These lives they are just a joke

I see the crown of my island

Slipping away like grains of sand

So let’s draw up the earth

On this little sheet

Then carve ourselves a slice

The next time we meet

Don’t worry I’ll raze it to ashes

Mix it with dust and grime

For us I know it ain’t a crime

But still it’s naughty to not seem nice

Now for all the blood we’ve spilled

We’ve won a hundred years of peace

Then why is it my friend

That this ache just doesn’t decrease

(Something that just decided to manifest itself as I watched “When Lions Roared”)


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