Текст песни Борис Гребенщиков - - Праздник урожая во дворце труда

No matter how much we sang, it’s the same as being silent
From this our holy water became dead;
The wheels of sorrow drove through us
And here we go
On the Harvest Festival in the Palace of Labor.

Time to evade, but how to evade?
Leave this zone, pull out wires from yourself;
And Rosa Lespromkhoz and Maria Wedding Bird
Ready to give all that is for a ticket
On the Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.

We know that the machine is completely out of order;
We know that there is no road, and has never been here;
Close your eyes not to see
Faun crouching across the field;
A star knocking from the sky knocks on the door.
Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.

Red kraplak and black soot;
In ancient ruins, trains ripped into the trash;
Under the feet of passers-by are the canvases of the Hermitage;
The conductor is completely deaf:
Harvest Festival at the Palace of Labor.

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