| Shapes, dust, hidden buildings,
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| As always modern, antique haughty
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| Crossroads started stealing.
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| He stands at the cradle of the Caucasian brotherhood.
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| Here, where the stars see people's thoughts,
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| Where neon lights watch the shadows dance
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| Humming the rustle of bridges, fragments of dreams
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| Don rolls its dark waters through the years.
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| Look up, flocks of clouds are flying,
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| Weak beam visible
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| Light, heat is a special gift,
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| Day of change, a different alignment of yesterday's topics
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| Prepares the morning of gray walls.
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| Only the shine of wet roads
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| Asphalt reflects text
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| 24/7 other places,
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| At this time, it sets the rhythm for the new day.
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| Rostov, who received the informal title - Pope,
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| Majestic Rostov-Papa
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| Gates of the Caucasus, the bosom of wild excitement
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| And I don't care if everyone agrees with me
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| Who has been here once?
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| Chorus:
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| My spirit feels next to the breath of your streets,
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| The look notices traces of changes, your morals,
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| Rumor picks up the rhythm of the nights
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| Fear paints the unknown for the day.
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| Without words, definitely, definitely
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| Such is the city, warmed by the faith of gray dogs.
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| Maintains tone every day
|
| Your mercilessly smart, severely romantic image.
|
| Without words, definitely, definitely
|
| Such is the city, warmed by the faith of gray dogs.
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| A series of faces, false ambitions, eternity in the sky,
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| A flock of birds draws infinity.
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| Vanity, like a prize, will remain here forever,
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| Regardless of the times.
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| Imprint of risky ideas plus betting strategy
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| Determine the result, personal skill.
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| Fear brings failure, the plan takes a big swing
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| But it disappears before our eyes.
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| The die is cast, the price is too high
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| "Hey, watch out! |
| The way back is impossible!”
|
| The boys find everything here: from ghostly happiness
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| Before initiation into the secrets of thieves' passion.
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| I watch the leaden sunset melting in the sky,
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| Throwing the evening let it fade with a million lights,
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| Similar to losses, a million ways to the night doors.
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| Echoes of sudden separations, this daily circle
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| Completes arbitrary leisure.
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| Traditionally modest plot, whatever
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| Accept: Dutch smoke or cable porn.
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| Big lanterns of Rostov flicker behind the glass
|
| "Bro, slow down, let's drive along Sadovaya!
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| Flight in the rhythm of a traffic light.
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| Ah, it's awesome!"
|
| Chorus:
|
| My spirit feels next to the breath of your streets,
|
| The look notices traces of changes, your morals,
|
| Rumor picks up the rhythm of the nights
|
| Fear paints the unknown for the day.
|
| Without words, definitely, definitely
|
| Such is the city, warmed by the faith of gray dogs.
|
| Maintains tone every day
|
| Your mercilessly smart, severely romantic image.
|
| My spirit feels next to the breath of your streets,
|
| The look notices traces of changes, your morals,
|
| Rumor picks up the rhythm of the nights
|
| Fear paints the unknown for the day.
|
| Without words, definitely, definitely
|
| Such is the city, warmed by the faith of gray dogs.
|
| Maintains tone every day... |