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