Like a river you run, a strange appellation And the asphalt's transparent, just like river flows. Ah Arbat my Arbat! You are my vocation. You're my happiness and you are my woe. Your crosswalks - with small-time people they are smidgeoned: They are hurrying to work and stomping their heels. Ah Arbat my Arbat! You are my religion. All your ramparts are there lying under me. Of your love I cannot be cured, I understand, Though forty thousand other roads I may adore. Ah Arbat my Arbat! You are my Fatherland, And I won't reach your end forevermore. By Bulat Okudzhava Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat/russian-songs
