Boris sipped his brew

behind the Kremlin walls
where Boris sipped his brew
millions of ghosts sit and talk
about Putin and his crew
it's impossible to breathe, they say,
at the bottom of the Baltic sea
if no bones come alive
like a jumping circus flea!
their army of dead eyes,
with rage inside each head,
cross the Moskva River
with a loaf of hard black bread,

to piss on pant legs standing guard
in the darkness between drinks,

tossing stones at the tyranny
until the bastard sinks.