2. Your pedestrians are not exalted people,
2. Your pedestrians are not exalted people,
Their heels pound, they hurry on their way.
Oh my Arbat, you are my religion,
Your roadway lies beneath me.
3. I will never get over loving you,
Even loving forty thousand other roadways.
Oh my Arbat, you are my native land,
No one could ever come to the end of you.