Генеральный Зимние
General Winter, he is comming early this eve.
Eight miles to Moscow, she is soon in plain sight
So that a starving population
Miserably dies.
In disorder, the rest of them flees
Out on the Moscow streets
Where it is minus 30 degrees
Children freezing whit bare feet.
Men are drinking Vodka
just to keep themselves warm
But the General isn't decived
When falling to the ground, there is no easy way back up
On a cold, februari night.
Hammer and Sickle
Sovjets Unite
To supress all hunger, to industrialize.
Authors Note: All rights preserved to The CocoNut / Ida Blomqvist, the writer of the poem.