Текст песни БГ - Праздник Урожая Во Дворце Труда

No matter how much we sang - it's all the same that we were silent
From this our holy water became dead;
Wheels of sadness have driven over us
And here we go
On the Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.

It's time to dodge, but how to dodge?
Leave this zone, pull the wires out of yourself;
And Rosa Lespromkhoza and Maria Wedding Bird
We are ready to give everything we have for a ticket
On the Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.

We know that the car is completely defective;
We know that there is no road, and has never been here;
Close your eyes so you don't see
Faun creeping across the field;
A star that has fallen from the sky knocks on the door.
Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.

Red speckle and black soot;
Trains torn to rubble in ancient ruins;
Under the feet of passers-by are the Hermitage canvases;
The conductor is absolutely deaf:
Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.

No matter how much we sang, it's all the same that we were silent;
Therefore, our holy water became dead;
On a starless night I will wait on the dock;
We are at the very beginning.
Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.