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Moscow burned with noise and thunder,
Fire spread along the river bank.
Atop a mighty Kremlin tower,
He stood in his uniform of grey.

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The great man stood in contemplation,
And crossed his hands upon on his chest.
He saw below a sea of fire,
And saw death awaiting him ahead.

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"The soldiers that I have all summoned
Will die here, buried in the snow,
Our bones will bleach white in the fields,
Without a coffin or a grave.

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And, keeping all his dreams inside him,
He turned his gaze toward the flames,
Whispering in recognition,
He softly uttered to himself:

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"Fate sees Man as but a plaything,
And she is fickle to the end,
Raising him unto his zenith,
Then casting him down without shame."

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Moscow burned with noise and thunder,
Fire spread along the river bank.
Atop a mighty Kremlin tower,
He stood in his uniform of grey.