Forgive Me, That I Manage Badly, Manage

No, Not Under The Vault Of Another Sky, Not Under The Shelter Of Other Wings. I Was With My People Then, There Where My People Were Doomed To Be.

And It Seemed To Me That There Were Fires Flying Till Dawn Without Number And I Never Found Out Things-those Strange Eyes Of His-what Colour? Everything Trembling And Singing And Were You My Enemy Or My Friend, Winter Was It Or Summer?

The Stars Of Death Stood Over Us. And Russia, Guiltless, Beloved, Writhed Under The Crunch Of Bloodstained Boots, Under The Wheels Of Black Marias.

We Are All Carousers And Loose Women Here; How Unhappy We Are Together!

No Foreign Sky Protected Me, No Stranger's Wing Shielded My Face. I Stand As Witness To The Common Lot Survivor Of That Time, That Place.