Текст песни Борис Гребенщиков - Вятка Сан Франциско

San Francisco Vyatka

In San Francisco the street Indiana
Palm trees of marijuana.
These palms of unearthly beauty ,
Their guard blue cops .

Past them flaniruyut bums - rastomany ,
Which has only pockets full .
Pour cocktails and splashing whiskey
And circling the square wheels .

And here, in Vyatka - hut under the snow ...
And how to tell which one of us
More like this sky ?

And while we ryschem in search of paradise ,
Somebody, laughing and playing,
Throws us into the heart of a handful of fire
And there is nothing but this day.

And anyway - hello or goodbye ,
We have no place and no time to go back :
There is nothing except this road ,
While with us are careless gods .