Текст песни Борис Гребенщиков - Вятка Сан Франциско

Vyatka San Francisco

In San Francisco the street Indiana
Palm trees of marijuana.
These palm trees unearthly beauty,
They are guarded by cops blue.

Saunter past them bums-rastomany,
We are all full of pockets.
Pour cocktails and splashing whiskey
And circling the square wheels.

And here, in Vyatka - hut under the snow ...
And how to tell which one of us
More like this sky?

And while we ryschem in search of paradise,
Somebody, laughing and playing,
He throws us into the heart of a handful of fire
And there is nothing but this day.

And yet - hello or goodbye,
We have no place and no time to go back:
There is nothing except this road,
While with us are careless gods.