Things are here
And you're over there
And inbetween land, sea everything
I hope you're warm
And I hope you think of me
In Petersburg the way things used to be
Yesterday, a telegraph said that you had died
But I knew, but I know that it was a lie
I tried to laugh
But I went back to my room and cried
I mean our room
I went back to our room and cried

Retreat, [bad word] back home.