It would seem that something to miss, only seven days of separation, But it gets bored, even a wolf howling. Kitchen utensils are a mountain, all hands do not reach, And again I forgot to water your agave. Friends are calling, let’s wave, to barbecue to the cottage, And I do not go, my darling is sweeter to me. In the familiar mise-en-scene of days, everything looks different, When you unwittingly live alone. I miss you, like an apostle of holy torment, I miss you, that’s the thing. It would seem, well, what is bored, it is considered useful to rest a week from each other. And I’m trying to start living with iron logic, But love cannot be crammed into logic. And our ordinary way of life, which has developed over the years, Where vanity is vanity, owns everything, Prevents us from hearing the cry of a gray-haired universe, That we live not and not then. I miss you, like a desert in the white snow, I miss you, what can I do. It would seem that bored, only a week will pass, And everything will return to square one. Domestic affairs, friends, work to the limit, But in general, life is quite ordinary. And only having noticed the first snow over the gloomy capital And the stalls had frozen flowers, I remember how long it was not that it would not happen again, And that you are the most beautiful in it. I miss you, like a wounded animal in my pack, I miss you, that’s how it happens. I miss you. I miss you.