Woland Trust

Greetings, comrade, mind your step
The Patriarch's Ponds are wet tonight
You preach that there's no God, no Hell
Just atheist logic, cold and bright

I hold a little truth in hand
A Pilate, pure, a spike of dread
You'll lose your head to understand
A streetcar slicing through your cred

Manuscripts don't burn!
In the furnace of the state
But the Devil takes his turn
To annihilate the hate

Woland's trust!
Smash the Massolit to dust!
Woland's trust!
In this Moscow turned to rust!

Locked in the room with padded walls
He burned his novel, watched it fall
Pontius cries in every line
"I washed my hands... I'm doing fine"

But the cat is huge, the cognac flows
The Griboedov waitress knows
There is no peace for timid souls
Who sell their art to fill their bowls

Margarita flies tonight
Naked over Arbat's light
Holding cream from Azazello
Stomping on the critic below

Step aside for the witch-queen's glide
She's got nothing left to hide
Spilled the borscht, crushed the glass
This is for the Master's class!

"Manuscripts..."
"...don't burn."

You can break the spine
You can burn the page
But the ghosts crawl out
From the Soviet cage

Woland's trust!
See the ruble turn to dust!
Woland's trust!
Cowardice is the only sin
Let the fucking ball begin!

"You are not a writer... you are a Master."
"Bring out the wine."