In Vienna there are ten little girls,a shoulder for death to cry on,and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrowin the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this close-mouthed waltz.
Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz,of itself of death, and of brandythat dips its tail in the sea.
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,with the armchair and the book of death,down the melancholy hallway,in the iris's darkened garret,
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this broken-waisted waltz.
In Vienna there are four mirrorsin which your mouth and the ehcoes play.
There is a death for pianothat paints little boys blue.
There are beggars on the roof.
There are fresh garlands of tears.
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this waltz that dies in my arms.
Because I love you,
I love you, my love,in the attic where the children play,dreaming ancient lights of Hungarythrough the noise, the balmy afternoon,seeing sheep and irises of snowthrough the dark silence of your
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this " I will always love you"
In Vienna I will dance with youin a costume witha river's head.
See how the hyacinths line my banks!
I will leave my mouth between your legs,my soul in a photographs and lilies,and in the dark wake of your footsteps,my love, my love,
I will have to leaveviolin and grave, the waltzing ribbons.
