Evolution II: Soviet Motherland Calls
Jucifer
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From the tomb of tatars high above our road
Lady mad with blood and glory in her eyes
Stands three hundred feet with sword of volga steel
Challenging the gloaming sky
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Roam her endless streets of summer waving heat
Pavements softened grope through yellow land
Drive through wide crevasse in tenement relief
Press precious cold drink to your hand
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In the softest silent corridors of night
Where the houses cling to yellow sand
Babies sleeping in the bellies of their light
Dogs lie restless with the damned