Праздник урожая во дворце труда [Prazdnik urozhaya vo dvortse truda] [English translation]

No matter how much we sing, we might as well have kept silent

From this, our holy water became lifeless

The wheels of sadness drove over us

And now here we go to the Harvest Festival in the Palace of Labor1

Time to turn aside, but how to do it?

To leave this zone, to tear the wires out of yourself

But Rosa Timber Enterprise and Maria Wedding Bird

Are ready to give everything they have for a ticket

To the Harvest Festival in the Palace of Labor

We know the car is completely broken down

We know there's no road here and never has been

Close your eyes, so as not to see a faun stalking through the field

Stars, fallen from the sky, knock at the door:

Harvest Festival in the Palace of Labor

Rose madder2 and black soot

Smashed up trains in ancient ruins

Under the feet of passersby, canvases from the Hermitage3

The music conductor is completely deaf:

Harvest Festival in the Palace of Labor

No matter how much we sing, it's as if we had kept silent

That's why our holy water became dead

On a starless night I will wait on the pier

We're at the very beginning: Harvest Festival in the Palace of Labor

1. In the Soviet era, a "palace of labor" or "palace of culture" was a public building that hosted organized cultural and leisure activities for workers2. Dark red plant-based dye used since ancient times3. Saint Petersburg art museum comparable to the Louvre in Paris