Updated!!

T A K E   T H I S   W A L T Z 

Now in Vienna there's ten pretty women
There's a shoulder 
where death comes to cry

There's a lobby with nine-hundred windows
There's a tree 
where the doves go to die.

There's a piece 
that was torn from the morning
and it hangs 
in the gallery of frost

Aye.  Ay ay aye.

Take this Waltz, take this Waltz
take this waltz
with the clamp on its jaws

Oh, I want you
I want you 
I want you
on a chair with a dead magazine

In the cave at the tip of the lilly
in some hallway where love's never been

On our bed, 
where the moon has been sweating
In a cry 
filled with foot steps and sand

Aye.  Ay ay aye.

Take this Waltz, take this Waltz
take its 
broken waste in your hand

this waltz this waltz
this waltz this waltz
with its very own breath 
of brandy and death
dragging its tail 
in the see

  There's a concert hall
  in Vienna
  where your mouth 
  had a thousand reviews

  There's a bar
  where the boys have stopped talking
  they've been sentenced to death
  by the blues.

Ahh, butt
who is it
that clangs to your picture:
with a garland of freshly cut tears?

I.  Ay ay aye.

Take this Waltz, take this Waltz
take this waltz 
take this waltz its been dying for ye' ars.

There's an attic
where children are play'in
where I've got to lie down
with you
Soon in a dream of Hungarian lanterns
in the myst of some sweet afternoon

And I'll see what you've chained 
to your sorrow
all your sheep
and your lillies of snow.

Aye.  Ay ay aye.

take this waltz
take this waltz
with its,
"I'll never forget ya, you know."

this waltz                               
this waltz                               
this waltz                               
this waltz                               
with its very own breath                      
of brandy and death:  Dragon.  
                                         
It's tale in the sea.                  

   And I'll dance with you  
   In Vienna
   I'll be wearing a river's disguise
   The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
   My mouth on the DEW of your thighs

   And I'll bury my soul
   in a scrapbook
   with the photographs there
   in the moss.

   And I'll yield
   to the flood of your beauty:
   My cheap violin and my cross.

   And you'll carry me 
   down on your dancing
   To the pools
   that you
   lift on your writs

   oh my love.
                     
   oh my love.
                     
take this waltz.
take this waltz.

It's yours now.

It's all that there is . . .

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