We lived in this city, we served in this city, we walked in this city, we talked, we played the guitar, we talked, we loved to sing about our friends. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house, a blue starry skyline, a garden street, a maple bench. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house. A severe war has come, it has lit up the fire of the pogroms, we have been starving from the light rain. And leaving our city, our beloved holy city, we carried our hearts away. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house, a blue starry skyline, a garden street, a maple bench. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house. But now we have returned again, crushing the enemy under our fangs, throwing off our helmets together with our heads. Our city is a new glory, our city is a harsh life, we are going again to the familiar bridgehead. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house, a blue starry skyline, a garden street, a maple bench. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house, a blue starry skyline, a garden street, a maple bench. Rostov is a city, Rostov is a house.