Letters

In nineteenth-century Russia, we write letters

We write letters

We put down in writing

What is happening in our minds

Once it's on the paper, we feel better

We feel better

It's like some kind of clarity

When the letter's done and signed

Dear Andrey,

Dear old friend,

How goes the war?

Do we march on the French splendidly?

Do our cannons crack and cry?

Do our bullets whistle and sing?

Does the air reek with smoke?

I wish I were there,

With death at my heels

Dolokhov is recovering

He will be all right, the good man

It should have been me

I am a most ridiculous man

And Natasha is in town

I hear she is more beautiful than ever

How I envy you and your happiness

Here at home I drink and read

And drink and read

And drink

And I fill my mind with rot,

While my heart is empty

And I've been studying the Cabal

And I've calculated the number of the beast

It is Napoleon!

♪

I will kill him one day

He is not a great man

None of us are great men

We are just caught in the wave of history

Nothing matters

Everything matters,

It's all the same

If only I could not see it,

This dreadful, terrible "it"

In nineteenth-century Russia, we write letters

We write letters

We put down in writing

What is happening in our minds

Dear Andrey—

What more can I write

After all that has happened?

What am I to do

If I love him,

And the other one too?

Must I break it off?

These terrible questions

I see nothing but the candle in the mirror

No visions of the future

So lost and alone

And what of Princess Mary?

Dear Natasha,

I am in deep despair

At the misunderstanding there is between us,

Whatever my father's feelings might be

I beg you to believe

That I cannot help loving you

He is a tired old man and must be forgiven

Please, come see us again

Dear Princess Mary—

Oh, what am I to write?

How do I choose?

What do I do?

I shall never be happy again!

These terrible questions

I'm so alone here

So alone in here

And I see nothing

I see nothing but the candle in the mirror

No visions of the future

So lost and alone

In nineteenth-century Russia, we write letters

We write letters

We put down in writing

What is happening in our minds

Dear Natalie,

A love letter

A love letter

A love letter

A letter from him,

From the man that I love

A letter which I composed

A love letter

A love letter

A love letter

A love letter

A love letter

A love letter

A love letter

A love letter

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,

I must love you or die

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,

If you love me, say yes,

And I will come and steal you away

Steal you out of the dark

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,

I want nothing more

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,

I must love you or die

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,

If you love me, say yes

And I will come and steal you away

Steal you out of the dark

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie,

I want nothing more

Just say yes

Just say yes

Just say yes

♪

Yes, yes, I love him!

How else could I have his letter in my hand?

I read it twenty times,

Thirty times, forty times!

Each and every word

I love him, I love him