The lights of Saint Petersburg come on as usualAlthough the air

seems charged with a strangeness of late, yet there’s nothing to touch

And the Tsar in his great Winter Palace has called for the foreign news

An archduke was shot down in Bosnia, but nothing much

And my grandmother sits on the beach in the days before the war

Young girl writing her diary, while time seems to pause

Watching the waves as they come one by one to die on the shore

(Al Stewart: ‘’Manuscript’op het album ‘Zero She Flies’)