It's 8 AM The winter sun is weak and it's gray and it's grim And the mud stained windows Don't let a whole lot in 13 strangers in a rundown yellow van And the boys' breath and the men's breath Both smell like last night's beer and vodka runs Like father like father Like son There's a quiet desperation In this academic suburb North of Kingdom Come But it's home The people's loss Is lying there beneath the permafrost Bankers and some clever oligarchs Prowl the Taiga like hungry Tiger sharks And the boys' breath....