The genre called Russian folklore © PETER ANDERSSON A MUSIC PARODY BASED ON: "THE WRECK OF THE EDMUND FITZGERALD" BY: GORDON LIGHTFOOT BONUS QUOTE: "Those who welcome death have only tried it from the ears up." WILSON MIZNER		It has been explained to me that Russian folklore, songs and poetry is the saddest in the world. The most common theme is apparently how a stoic hero, after having endured tremendous hardships, cold winters without comparison and darkened forests without ends, still manages to fight his way back home, only to die in despair within a stone's throw from his old rustic village. Now if you are the kind of person that takes off screaming for benzodiazepines by unhappy endings like that you better stop reading right here, because to me the whole setup sounded like a fun write! The genre might come - from Siberian moms And I hear it is called Russian folklore The thing is it's sad - and it always ends bad After hardships are death always called for Mostly set in the yore - where they lived on stomped floors As did Ivan the herald in this story This postal man knew - that his mail must come through Nonetheless if the weather was roaring His route was the pride - of Baikal's northern side It went back, forth and home every season He felt never wayworn - as he travelled forlorn Never once called in sick, that be treason He packed up his sack - and some dried beetroot snacks As he left for the route that he had planned And later that night - in the ol' pale moon light He could hear the first wolf in the woodlands The storm had him tired - but that was required And he thought there's no way he'd be failing So with his face blue - he did struggle on through With his plight to deliver the mailings Then snow came down hard - but as thoroughly scarred He stood up as the ice flakes came slashing When afternoon came - he was still up for game But his horse now required some lashing Their fate turned unfair - they encountered a bear Limping forward as it been surmounted With cold heart and skin - and the mare wearing thin They both fell as Ivan tried to mount her The horse it gave in - and became a has been Ivan's whole trip and life was in peril And later that week - so his legend bespeaks Came the end of old Ivan the herald As everyone know - the Siberian snow And its winds have caused mammoths to quit it He crawled all the way - and it's thought to this day With just fifteen less letters he'd made it With stamps higher prized - or some letters revised He might have made safe from the slaughter But all that remained - after wolfs made him game In a shoe was a note to his daughter The wolf pack it howled - and old Ivan was fouled Within view of his house in the morning Of Ivan it's said - he killed seven wolfs dead But most legends are known for adorning He fought tooth and nail - and he died for his mail Coming through as a postal defender And though postmen now plough - as the winter winds blow Still that man from Siberia's remembered In a forgotten grave - somewhere Ivan was laid It got stamped by his wife, now ethereal His death was ill-timed - she in week twenty-nine She starved dead without Ivan the herald This genre might come - from Siberian moms Now you know how it goes, Russian folklore It's always this sad - and it always ends bad And in tune even this song's now done for © Peter Andersson 2007
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