When you're not here,
The sky all obscure
takes the shape of your mouth;
kiss my mouth

The East wind it's you.
Ah, my sad clouds,
your lovesick little replies,
I'll speak no more, no more;

Me I don't cry,
it's the wine that flows to you,
I'm cold in my hair,
I'm in pain in my stomach.

Under the all obscure sky.
The chair broke me, asked me
if you loved me a little?

"I'm cold, let's go home," said the Lover.

Let the tears of wine flow,
on your face, in my hands.