My dreams don't wait 'till I'm asleep
they keep my head filled
with a child's eyes and the screams
of the soldiers that I killed
I was just a boy led to believe
that my country was all I had
now I'm an old man living inside my head
with the battle of Stalingrad
The Volga has since cleansed any sins
that the devil can devise
I can look you dead in the face
and never trust my eyes
I could tell you what men can do
when war drives them mad
and that might explain why I can't leave
the battle of Stalingrad
Lovers come and lovers go
and children do the same
and all that we could ever share
was the spelling of our name
Wars go on from then till now
the young like grains of sand
some swept away by the tide
others left to understand
that the men who sit high above
in finery are they clad
while the mud still clings to those who lay
in the ruins of Stalingrad
How can one speak of things
as either happy or sad
those are things left behind
in the ruins of Stalingrad
they keep my head filled
with a child's eyes and the screams
of the soldiers that I killed
I was just a boy led to believe
that my country was all I had
now I'm an old man living inside my head
with the battle of Stalingrad
The Volga has since cleansed any sins
that the devil can devise
I can look you dead in the face
and never trust my eyes
I could tell you what men can do
when war drives them mad
and that might explain why I can't leave
the battle of Stalingrad
Lovers come and lovers go
and children do the same
and all that we could ever share
was the spelling of our name
Wars go on from then till now
the young like grains of sand
some swept away by the tide
others left to understand
that the men who sit high above
in finery are they clad
while the mud still clings to those who lay
in the ruins of Stalingrad
How can one speak of things
as either happy or sad
those are things left behind
in the ruins of Stalingrad
inviata da Riccardo Venturi - 8/8/2005 - 10:49
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by Tom Flannery