| Viktor was born in the spring of '44
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| And never saw his father anymore
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| A child of sacrifice, a child of war
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| Another son who never had a father after Leningrad
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| Went off to school and learned to serve the state
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| Followed the rules and drank his vodka straight
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| The only way to live was drown the hate
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| A Russian life was very sad
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| And such was life in Leningrad
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| I was born in '49
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| A cold war kid in McCarthy time
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| Stop 'em at the 38th Parallel
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| Blast those yellow reds to hell
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| And cold war kids were hard to kill
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| Under their desk in an air raid drill
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| Haven’t they heard we won the war
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| What do they keep on fighting for?
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| Viktor was sent to some Red Army town
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| Served out his time, became a circus clown
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| The greatest happiness he’d ever found
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| Was making Russian children glad
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| And children lived in Leningrad
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| But children lived in Levittown
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| And hid in the shelters underground
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| Until the Soviets turned their ships around
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| And tore the Cuban missiles down
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| And in that bright October sun
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| We knew our childhood days were done
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| And I watched my friends go off to war
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| What do they keep on fighting for?
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| And so my child, and I came to this place
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| To meet him eye to eye and face to face
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| He made my daughter laugh, then we embraced
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| We never knew what friends we had
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| Until we came to Leningrad |