Saint Petersburg [Theme] Page 2

I now live in the two cities. Moscow and Peter. It is very difficult to combine, because two completely different cities. It even smells different. In Moscow, the smell dvizhuha, money, expensive perfume. Peter somehow measured, and in Moscow in Moscow at a furious pace. <...> So I think that drawbridges can only be in St. Petersburg. If the drawbridges were in Moscow, there would be every day people fell in trying to jump to the other side.

In St. Petersburg today, thunderstorm,
On eyelashes froze tear.
You, my dear native people,
Parted as if forever,
Parted as if forever,
The soul silently falling snow,
You my calls no longer wait -
In St. Petersburg today rain.

I lived a long time in Petersburg in the house of the old type and the facade was decorated with stucco in the form of human faces, And the old woman who lived on the ground floor, thought this is not enough and the window was still out their.

Thank you Sunny Peter
You drove me through the streets as its like a song on repete.
What did you whisper in my line of the Bible, the Koran, the Torah.
Torture me with rap and chanson, spoiled hardcore,
Played on the strings of my soul, as the double bass.
Yes, our animal jazz band, as beautiful as ever.

Thank you, the sun's Peter again took
And the example given to understand where rock ' n ' roll.
My personal Rivendell, with its palaces.
My personal Rivendell with his meth - it sticks out and beckons.
I hear music in the courtyards, gardens and doorways.
His animal jazz band as always sings to me.

The word Revolution is almost banned. The figure. The Museum, the whole city and the whole country now - the territory of restoration and reaction. Overfed belly vending city of St. Petersburg displaces the last memories of Leningrad. Like the concrete sets and hardens a new mythology. If do not ever shoot "Aurora", not waving a revolver sailor Zhelezniak, not freezing the guard in front of Smolny. October? A historical mistake. Remember. Some unknown, Satan, the dark forces have stormed the Winter, to befoul his shining halls, 70 years to plunge the entire country into a vortex of horror and suffering, and then disappear forever.

All my friends and relatives in St. Petersburg, said to me: put on something serious, forget about the fact that it is summer. This Petersburg.

Peter is a unique city. Only here I realized that I wanted to live in Spain.

Day breaks into atoms,
Night monolithic and dumb.
And if I suddenly went somewhere we.
We crushed b this darkness.
But the first ray zmeitsya lasts
The darkness to break into pieces.
The neighbors are morning persons
Scaring the harpies of the city,
And those that rise above the rooftops -
Klekowski resentment mushroom.
And if suddenly for some reason we went out
It obviously has not reached b.
Creaking steel insects,
In spite of the cold weather.
Swarm of moths, attracted by the
Dehiscence of the coal river.
Over her, moth for centuries, but
Still like trouble
Seated lions as stone
And will not die ever.

When I go for spring Petersburg, inhaling the scent of grass and blooming trees, when I look in the water channels of the corrugated reflection of spires and domes, see cascading water in the grill and skiffs near the Summer garden, I was visibly and clearly surrounds the XVIII century.

At the beginning of summer in Petersburg there are sometimes lovely days - bright, warm, quiet.

But, removing the coat,
The brainchild of Peter proud not to be thrown in the sea.
Day the hooter Kirov factory,
He palaces as its root.
I want to sing, I my own city laborer,
I want to make, as long as valid and alive
Want to watch with the broken Pulkovo heights,
How you live, how you live, the enemy is not broken people.

I want to live among the canals and bridges,
And to go out with you, Neva banks.
I want to fly, I'm a white Seagull in the morning
Don't breathe over Your miracle Montferrand.
Want to keep the history of his country,
I want to open, Mikhailov Palace for the people.
Want to give, houses familiar from childhood with the view
My dream is to remove the forest from the Savior on spilled Blood.

There came a sadness,
Well, I'm gonna go, I have to share it with anyone.
And green alleys,
In the fluff of the poplars, I walk in the land of the Neva.
Can you tell who: "the Climate here is not the one."
And I need your damp.
Here I became wiser, and with a city of rains,
We smear one world.