St. Petersburg

It's my turn
 It's your turn
 It's my turn
 Time to leave
 Take a bag
 And pack it neat
 I've got no future so I'm marching East
 Corpses in cardboard boxes
 A mystery to the world
 ♪
 It's my turn
 It's your turn
 It's my turn
 Time to leave
 Take a bag
 And pack it neat
 I've got no future so I'm marching East
 Corpses in cardboard boxes
 A mystery to the world
 I don't feel exalted driving Japanese cars
 And I don't see the value
 Of losing paths like well-made rafts
 It's not enough to cling to
 Something I was driving haunts my recollection
 And my frozen face
 It warrents your affection
 And I hate the fact
 I always hate the fact
 I'd like a room in St. Petersburg
 With rotting walls and character
 Where I can hide from strangers' eyes
 And be a mystery to the world
 And be a mystery to the world