He was my North, my South, my East and West, 
My working week and my Sunday rest, 
My moon, my midnight, my talk, my song; 
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. 

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one; 
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; 
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. 
For nothing now can [bad word] to any good.

*люблю тебя, мой Ру-Ру