In the close-fitting stove, flames are flickering,
The resin on the wood looks like tears,
In the funk hole, a squeezebox is singing
Of your beautiful eyes and your smile.
About you, bushes whispered to me
In the snow-white fields Moscow nearby. And I want you to hear my voice,
How it is very sad and alive.
You are now very far… far away.
And expanses of snow lie between.
It is so hard for me to reach you,
And there are only four steps to death.
Sing, harmonica, blizzards ignore,
Call out happiness wandering away.
I’m warm in this freezing funk hole
Thanks to your big unquenchable love.
And my love - a lighthouse in my soul,
I will carry through longings and fights,
So I could see, my dear, at last
Happy cheerful tears in your eyes.
In the close-fitting stove, flames are flickering,
The resin on the wood looks like tears,
In the funk hole, a squeezebox is singing
Of your beautiful eyes and your smile.
In the funk hole, a squeezebox is singing
Of your beautiful eyes and your smile.