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I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will rot; talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia Station Twelve in the blizzard, I lost my left hand that night. Sweet dreams. I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I was a pattern, picked up. I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia this is the remix:
Siberian trains and too many sex slaves
Fifteen and a half going on fifty cold
Ice corpses along the railroad
Here’s how they smuggle children,
So even Father Time can’t turn his face fast enough /
I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will talk about the sound of melting snow, but I’d rather let the musicians hold this sound up above like twelve guitars like twelve disciples I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia not even if the riff is of a fawn set against a snow field because you’ll see a blood trail like the drops of coffee stains on your carpet when you hurry from a kitchen across a domicillic field and towards a station; oh frosty stations I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia Mad Man And Snow Storm and Barren Wasteland, Oh, find my sculpture there in ice, find my face and tags on your church.
Nothing’s gonna melt in Siberia, not crimes, not sounds, maybe just the streams that will send majesty searching I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about Siberia I will not talk about siberia
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