When the fists of winter fly
Driving bones into the snow
Blackened frostbitten nights
 [bad word] dry

The statues cloaked in white
Migrants from museums
Losing all the feeling now that
Sunrise is outlawed

Strangers plant themselves
Down in the cold hard ground
Later when the harvest thaws
Snow drops will be in bloom

Crossed out on city maps
Prospekt Mira reveals
Shadows drinking antifreeze
Neath the underpass

Ordered once a gulag’s march
Now cities send the call
Falling from the rooftops fast
And frozen against the wall

Where strangers plant themselves
Dead souls of the underground
When [bad word] thaws
Snow drops will be in bloom again

Bloom again, bloom again
Bloom again, bloom again
Red blooms, red blooms