Текст песни
I’ve returned to my city, so known by heart
Down to its veins, to the glands of my childish start
You’re back here — then swallow, and swallow with haste
The fish‑oil glow of Leningrad’s lamps, dim and chaste
Recognise swiftly the December day
Where yolk is mixed with tar in a sinister way
Petersburg, I’m not ready to die just yet
Your lines still hold the numbers I’ve set
Petersburg, I still have some addresses
Where I can find the voices of the dead, no less
I live on a black staircase, and at my very head
A bell, torn out by the flesh, strikes me, it is said
And all night long I wait for dear guests to appear
Rattling the shackles of door‑chains near
