Lyrics:
I remember your good days,
the winds carried October in their fists.
Children marched with stars in their eyes,
and the future felt like footsteps away.
You taught the world to dream in red,
to raise a flag like a sunrise.
You whispered to the poor,
“History bends for those who push.”
But then you won, or thought you won,
and the victory put you to sleep.
You forgot the struggle that made you,
and struggle forgot you back.
Steel domes reflected heaven,
but the bread lines stretched like shadows.
The poets packed their notebooks,
the workers packed their bags.
And I ask:
Are you happy now, Moscow?
Do the ghosts applaud your silence?
The snow falls soft on marble graves,
like confetti for a party no one came to.
Are you happy now, Moscow?
You turned the fire into museum glass.
The revolution lies behind a velvet rope,
ticket price printed on the door.
You once were the North Star
for those with empty pockets and full hearts.
Now your brightest lights
sell souvenirs of their own extinction.
What do the children march for now?
Likes, brands, borders, screens?
What song replaces the one
that promised bread and peace?
And tell me,
if the world still cries out in hunger,
if the worker still breaks his back,
if the tyrant still counts the coins
Was the dream a dream,
or just a pause between empires?
Are you happy now, Moscow?
Are you well?
Do you remember us?
Is there something you want from me still?
Because if humanity is struggle,
and life is struggle,
and struggle never ends
Then maybe, just maybe,
somewhere beneath your frozen sidewalks,
still buried in the concrete of your past
a quiet ember waits for breath.
And that is why I ask again:
Are you happy now, Moscow?
We both know the answer.
So are you ready once more
for Octobers yet unlived?
