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Description
You're not in Paris anymore-
the black polished boots and freezing weather-
this postcard is all you got left
of your home among the snow
and snow leopards
of the wintered Ural Mountains,

Don't be surprised that
after three days in the back,
the truck would get a flat in front
of this abandoned house
with Dutch double doors and French
Fourier serie'd logs, stacked on a rock

You'd figure it'd collapse
under the Siberian wind and rock slides,
instead of too many house guests
that just happen to get stuck here,
but we stroll along these peaks,
after dodging Interpol and Ab Hudin.
I'd never imagine our legs give
        Here, in nowhere
dropped, with a scoop of serendipity,
along side Paris' most pleasant dwelling

The wheels buckled in
in the spot right next to me standing,
more aware of the shit we got stuck in.
The worst and best of luck,
dancing tango around us,
and I thought to myself:
how wild, how homely a home

like a North Israeli building booby trap
W.A.F.U., so a Walk in the Sun,
        or ready to blow
like a mini-W.M.D. or the W.I.A.
they're waiting for, our Wilco-

Or--scoping with goggles on
and safties off--
it really was a house,
some eccentric's European get-away
in the cold stoned, Russian hell,
and calling it Heaven on Earth

But, half an hour in, the night horizon
       glowed not orange and pink,
       and so I say thinking of nothing--
       just watching the spotlights grow
       as they're getting closer,
       the dog's voices growing louder--
       I'm going to stay here,
       in this Eden off the Acheron,
       my own Elysium,
       where broken walls are painted Red

Description
You're not in Paris anymore-
the black polished boots and freezing weather-
this postcard is all you got left
of your home among the snow
and snow leopards
of the wintered Ural Mountains,

Don't be surprised that
after three days in the back,
the truck would get a flat in front
of this abandoned house
with Dutch double doors and French
Fourier serie'd logs, stacked on a rock

You'd figure it'd collapse
under the Siberian wind and rock slides,
instead of too many house guests
that just happen to get stuck here,
but we stroll along these peaks,
after dodging Interpol and Ab Hudin.
I'd never imagine our legs give
        Here, in nowhere
dropped, with a scoop of serendipity,
along side Paris' most pleasant dwelling

The wheels buckled in
in the spot right next to me standing,
more aware of the shit we got stuck in.
The worst and best of luck,
dancing tango around us,
and I thought to myself:
how wild, how homely a home

like a North Israeli building booby trap
W.A.F.U., so a Walk in the Sun,
        or ready to blow
like a mini-W.M.D. or the W.I.A.
they're waiting for, our Wilco-

Or--scoping with goggles on
and safties off--
it really was a house,
some eccentric's European get-away
in the cold stoned, Russian hell,
and calling it Heaven on Earth

But, half an hour in, the night horizon
       glowed not orange and pink,
       and so I say thinking of nothing--
       just watching the spotlights grow
       as they're getting closer,
       the dog's voices growing louder--
       I'm going to stay here,
       in this Eden off the Acheron,
       my own Elysium,
       where broken walls are painted Red