the rain would fall

rain would fall in leningrad that day.
birds who sang in summertime would all have sailed away.
she would put the kettle on to boil a steaming kettle song.

he would find in leningrad that day,
the letter that she left though there was nothing left to say.
hope so terrible would start to bud like roses in his heart.

she would fly from leningrad that day.
like a bird of summertime, she would sail away.
trust so delicate would start to dry and crumble in her heart.

the life between a woman and a man
is built on little secrets no one else would understand.
even if you're right there in the middle of the weave,
you still would not expect the threads to leave.

rain would fall in leningrad that day.
birds who sang in summertime would all have sailed away.
she would put the kettle on to boil a steaming kettle song.