Stranglers Vladimir And Olga
Twas a hot September, the hottest I can remember.
We took the children in the larder, and headed for the
warm climbs of Odessa.
I'd worked hard the whole season,
Olga portrayed a tiredness which she strove to conceal.
We stopped at an inn and took some lunch - some simple
fare of cheeses and borshch.
The bread tasted strange - Olga mentioned to me the old
wives tale of 'bread mould madness'.
I laughed and ate, and ate and laughed.
The food did me good, the beer refreshed my dusty brow.
It was as we reached Odessa that I started to feel
the strangest mood descend over me from nowhere.
The sky changed colour;
Vehicles on the road were a funfair.
It struck me as being incredibly funny,
that we four were in a tin can,
hiding ourselves from the cruel, harsh, alien world
outside.
I stopped the car in the middle of the intersection in
the centre of Odessa,
and stepped outside to dance and laugh at the
insignificance of our ordered lives.
The traffic built up and Odessa saw it's largest,
most confused and contorted traffic jam and I started
to laugh.
I laughed and laughed until I cried and cried;
I cried and cried until I laughed and laughed.
I laughed and laughed until I cried and cried;
I cried and cried until I laughed and laughed...
