The Yellow Singing Turncoats
Inflamed by passion and a touch of flu
I went to Moscow for a moo
The laws, back then, had not been changed
The vice squad could be squared
But that was then. Guy Burgess had it made;
A samovar and girls who stayed
And best of all a secret kept
Though many more were shared
The Circus, though George Smiley is long gone,
Takes orders now from men in Bonn,
And though there's nothing left to hide
At least not all was bared
The KGB were pals of mine
We shared our cigarettes and wine
We went to live in Istanbul
Where everybody stared
But perestroika queered my pinko pitch;
The wall came down and so did I
A charlie with no checkpoint? Still ...
Little is the risk with nothing dared.
So now what? Disregarding my turned coat,
My feet of lead and head of oak,
But marking well my heart of gold,
No wonder no-one cared
Contributors: | KT, The Agent Apsley, Roland, TG, E Greejius, P, Grayman. |
Poem finished: | 19th February 2000. |