Did his nose twitch,
and did his eyes gleam
when they fell upon
the country of Russia's queen?
Did his fingers itch,
and did his head dream
of being a royal, if black swan
midst the regal team?
Ah Grigori, how you rose
from your humble beginnings
to influence the State,
to influence Russia's queen-and-king.
Ah Rasputin, in monk's-cothes,
courtly-ladies were your winnings
and death by murder your fate;
poison, pistol-bullet or drowning?
Yet you'd spied - as through a glass -
all that was now coming to pass.