In St. Petersburg, the snow is falling
It is God who cries the history of the world,
pearls falling, as if the blood of the sky,
covered the red century
with a white flag
In St Petersburg, the snow is falling
To bandage with cotton, the poor people
but the world is men,
countries, Bons Gods
and the pearls that fall and stand in your eyes
In St Petersburg, we lost the war,
not that of cannons, but that of ideas,
but there is Olga the blonde, the one we call Hope
and the one who hopes to remake the world,
a world made of light and snow in summer,
and of winter sun and night of 'love,
To St Petersburg, I will never go
and the more I look at you the more I know,
that I love you, my princess, my somewhere else, my love,
since the soul is wealth in St Petersburg.
In St Petersburg, the snow is falling
It is God who cries the blood of the world,
but there is Olga the blonde, the one we call Hope
and the one who hopes to remake the world,
a world made of light and snow in summer,
and of winter sun and night of love.

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN