Still as a liberal,
I'm melancholy,
She's afraid of the man who wrote to her,
Still as a socialist,
The days of dueling are over,
But in books and games they live,
Still as an unhappy communist man,
I love her like the calm moonlit night.
I'm melancholy,
She's afraid of the man who wrote to her,
Still as a socialist,
The days of dueling are over,
But in books and games they live,
Still as an unhappy communist man,
I love her like the calm moonlit night.
