Through this night I wander
Molokov is restless. Nothing holds any interest for him, not even his Russian poetry or the prospect of firing a few rounds in the shooting range.
He wants - no, needs to get out. The Door may not be there, but at least he can wander around the grounds.
Maybe there he'll find the clarity he seeks. Even a bit of conversation would be welcomed.
He wants - no, needs to get out. The Door may not be there, but at least he can wander around the grounds.
Maybe there he'll find the clarity he seeks. Even a bit of conversation would be welcomed.