If they knew the real me

In a bar, not so far from the Milky Way's star,
Stalin sipped vodka, eyeing caviar.
Ladies in flapper dresses, gents in top hats,
Joe thought, "Politics aside, I'm quite the aristocrat."

"My reputation's tarnished, they say I'm severe,
But put me in this bar, and I'm the man of the year.
Those gulags and purges? A simple faux pas,
Like spilling your drink on a femme fatale's bra."

He winked at a lady, with legs up to there,
She raised an eyebrow, gave a devilish stare.
"If only," he mused, "they saw this side of me,
The playful, the flirty, the downright carefree."

A jazz band played, the saxophone wailed,
As Stalin danced, his mustache never failed.
To tickle and tease, as he twirled on the floor,
Had history got it wrong? Was there more to explore?

He whispered to a dame, "Come, let's elope,
To a land where there's peace, and endless hope."
She giggled and said, "You're quite the charmer, Joe,
But remember, it's just for the show."

As the night wore on, and the stars did gleam,

Stalin awoke, realizing it was all a dream.

Yet in that brief moment, of risqué delight,

He wondered if history might someday rewrite