Riding in the bus caps and caps,
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I am spinning past them on a lisapede.
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The streets of my side are dangerous
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During shelling, ice, and in the evenings,
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I'm joking, but how else,
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Here in St. Petersburg one cannot live without laughter.
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I've been coughing up snot all winter.
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A sick person with a hoarse throat would like to drink tea.
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Bicycle, take me to Kazansky,
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She is waiting for me there today.
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Yes, on earth wherever there are kind people,
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You will always find me among them.
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How in the middle of the night the doors creaked in the house,
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How the mongrel disgraced herself by not recognizing her own.
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And how many of us, stepping on the threshold,
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He returns from the roads, into a loop of twisted dashing ones.
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Dad told me in hops:
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"Strength is in the spirit of the peasant, not in the fist."
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Oh, if only I knew then, stupid and young,
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I would not be ill now and I would be a living friend.
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And I'm waiting for you, which spring,
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In the same place with flowers by the column.
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I'm flying straight from the train to you,
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And the crows laugh at me from Nevsky.
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Bicycle, take me to Kazansky,
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She is waiting for me there today.
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Yes, on earth wherever there are kind people,
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You will always find me among them.
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How in the middle of the night the doors creaked in the house,
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How the mongrel disgraced herself by not recognizing her own.
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And how many of us, stepping on the threshold,
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He returns from the roads, into a loop of twisted dashing ones.
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The trains go far, the trains hum loudly.
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Only in my city it keeps raining.
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Here is my step on which songs are written,
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And a light bulb in the entrance, which is always stolen.
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Cheer up, you know I'm on my way
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At the half-station we smoke by the carriage.
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As soon as the sun wakes up by the bay of birds,
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So I'll move the Obkhodny Canal and be home again.
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Bicycle, take me to Kazansky,
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She is waiting for me there today.
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Yes, on earth wherever there are kind people,
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You will always find me among them.
|
How in the middle of the night the doors creaked in the house,
|
How the mongrel disgraced herself by not recognizing her own.
|
And how many of us, stepping on the threshold,
|
He returns from the roads, into a loop of twisted dashing ones. |