Here we are in Lenin's tomb
smoking clove cigarettes
domestically imported from Indonesia.

Sharing a bottle of cheap vodka,
hiding our stash from the Russian mafia.

Your hair wrapped in razors,
my body cut to ribbons
by rusty switchblades
in a cantankerous bar brawl.

Light drips from the cracks
filling this: our mausoleum,
our final cup,
so that i might die in your arms
and know that our love was good to the last drop.

Written, Produced & Performed by Gavin Lazar Suntop.

© 2008 G.Suntop. Some rights reserved.