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Viktor was born in the spring of '44 |
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And never saw his father anymore |
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A child of sacrifice, a child of war |
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Another son who never had a father after Leningrad |
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Went off to school and learned to serve the state |
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Followed the rules and drank his vodka straight |
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The only way to live was drown the hate |
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A Russian life was very sad |
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And such was life in Leningrad |
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I was born in '49 |
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A cold war kid in McCarthy time |
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Stop 'em at the 38th Parallel |
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Blast those yellow reds to hell |
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And cold war kids were hard to kill |
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Under their desk in an air raid drill |
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Haven't they heard we won the war |
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What do they keep on fighting for? |
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Viktor was sent to some Red Army town |
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Served out his time, became a circus clown |
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The greatest happiness he'd ever found |
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Was making Russian children glad |
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And children lived in Leningrad |
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But children lived in Levittown |
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And hid in the shelters underground |
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Until the Soviets turned their ships around |
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And tore the Cuban missiles down |
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And in that bright October sun |
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We knew our childhood days were done |
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And I watched my friends go off to war |
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What do they keep on fighting for? |
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And so my child, and I came to this place |
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To meet him eye to eye and face to face |
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He made my daughter laugh, then we embraced |
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We never knew what friends we had |
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Until we came to Leningrad |
