Soviet Kroger: Empty Shelves of the Old World

Lyrics

[Intro]

Oh, Decatur, 1985, the lines stretch out like the Volga in winter.
Empty shelves whispering promises of rye bread and tinned fish.
We wait, we laugh, we name it Soviet Kroger.

[Verse 1]
In the fluorescent hum of LaVista Road,
Carts idle like stalled Ladas on a Moscow street.
Mrs. Ivanova clutches her list: pelmeni, smetana, maybe a dream of abundance.
But the dairy case yawns empty, echoes of perestroika in Atlanta's suburbs.
We shuffle forward, sharing jokes about Gorbachev and the missing milk.
One by one, the beep of the scanner, a rare victory.

[Chorus]
Soviet Kroger, where the queues are folklore,
Bare shelves our communal joke.
We line up for the absurdity, the wait that binds us.
From Buford Highway echoes to Decatur's dawn,
This is our bread line ballet, spinning frustration into gold.

[Verse 2]
Remember 1991, the fall, but here the empire lingers in the produce aisle.
Turnips instead of tomatoes, beets bleeding red like old flags.
Young Dmitri at the register, scanning kvass bottles from '89 stock.
Neighbors murmur about the manager's promise: trucks arriving Tuesday.
We believe, we doubt, we return, carts clattering like samovars.
The air thick with dill and patience, a wedding of want and wit.

[Bridge]
And yet, in this empty expanse, we find each other.
No bread, but stories rise like yeast.
Atlanta's humor, unsparing, warm, turns scarcity to saga.
Soviet Kroger, our absurd monument.

[Chorus]
Soviet Kroger, where the queues are folklore,
Bare shelves our communal joke.
We line up for the absurdity, the wait that binds us.
From Buford Highway echoes to Decatur's dawn,
This is our bread line ballet, spinning frustration into gold.

[Outro]
Decatur fades, but the name remains, a quiet joke in the aisles.
Empty no more, but forever Soviet in our tales.