Текст песни Белая Гвардия - Твой Петербург

Your Petersburg takes me
This night divorced bridges.
To the black mirror of sleeping nex
And to the bends of her shores.

In the expectation of night trains.

The wind throws the scraps of newspapers,
Wind owner here.
We forget what kind of century,
And go out to Nevsky Prospect

In the expectation of postal carriages.

Warm castles on wet sand,
These towers, houses and bridges.
Our Skitnya around the edge of the earth
These signs and prophetic dreams

Waiting for a new wave.