Oven"s holding a flame of insane
Crying wood"s dropping pitch like a tear
Weeping squeezebox is singing with pain
That your smile and your eyes are not here.

Heard I whisper of bushes in snow
See, near Moscow, you know, just outside.
Badly want you to hear and to know
How my voice being weakly designed.

You"re away of me, mile after mile,
Never been I so lonely before,
Can"t I get to your eyes and your smile -
Can face death in four steps, only four.

Sings a squeezebox and waiting for storm,
Calling happiness here and around.
Can"t believe it, I feel only warm
Of your love that I looked for and found.