I can’t stop these songs writing themselves in my head. Passing them on to the world is a kind of exorcism. Here’s another in the same genre and to the same tune as before…
Solzhenitsyn was another;
He was friendly with my mother.
I don’t know if he kissed her
But he looks just like my sister
And a little bit like my brother.
No Russian authors were harmed in the writing of this song or the last one. Nor is it intended to allege, imply, suggest or hint that any person, extant or extinct, has behaved in any way that could be characterised by a reasonable person as dishonest or immoral.