Logs burn bright in my cramped little stove
On the wood, flowing tar, like a tear
The accordion sings to me here,
In my dugout, of your eyes and smile
Beyond Moscow, in fields full of snow,
On each bush the leaves whispered of you,
And I want now for you to hear
All this longing in my living voice
You are now far away, far away,
And between us lies snow beyond snow
To reach you is not easy to do,
To reach death – only four little steps
Sing, accordion, to spite the wind
Call the happiness that’s lost its way
In my bitter cold dugout, I’m warm
From a love that will never burn low