Sadness flew in, well, I'll go and walk, because I have no one to share it with.
And the greenery of the alleys, in the fluff of poplars, I walk the land of Neva.
Maybe someone will say: “The climate is not the same,” but I need your dampness.
Here I became wiser and with the city of rains we are smeared with one world.
I want to live among canals and bridges, and go with you, Neva, from the coast.
I want to fly a white seagull in the morning and not breathe over your miracle, Montferrand.
I want to keep the history of my country, I want to open Mikhailov’s castle for people.
I want to give the houses a look familiar from childhood, I dream of removing forests from the Savior on Spilled Blood.
But, removing the tailcoat, the brainchild of Peter, pride will not be thrown into the sea.
Kirovsky Zavod is calling the buzz day; it is the root of its palaces.
I want to sing my city of artisans, I want to be in time, as long as I am strong and alive,
I want to watch from the broken Pulkovo heights how you live, the enemy is not a broken people.
Sadness flew in, well, I'll go and walk, because I have no one to share it with.
And the greenery of the alleys, in the fluff of poplars, I walk the land of Neva.
Maybe someone will say: “The climate is not the same,” but I need your dampness.
Here I became wiser and with the city of rains we are smeared with one world.