What Tolstoy Said

A most brilliant young man

Made the unspoken oath

To keep his reputation

Through the gentle summer breeze

Roaming through the flower buds.

There's no summer and no spring for him

Even if there is supposed to be.

He walks in, unannounced;

A rush of cold air

Freezing everyone inside.

An electronic beat

Matching the beating of a collective heart

Which he'd be able to command

Or make it stop

Or break it

With a look from his blue eyes

Coincidentally burning red.

He'll notice the cold makes you shiver;

Don't you wish you'd kept your coat on?

He knows buds don't burst in the winter,

But his hands are warm enough to make them open up.

There's more spilled liquor by his feet now,

Watering the flowers that have withered with his touch.

When you've been picked, your doomed,

Or so they say,

For there's no right way to make him stay.

Don't look, don't listen.

Ignore these newborn flowers

Drying in the Russian winter.

Each bud shall carry a long strife

For the sake of his happiness

His freedom

And his forsaken life.