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 theGallery of … | By Brian D. Butler on August 8, 2024 | 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 theGallery of Frost Aey, aey, aey, aey 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 lily In some hallway where love's never been On a bed where the moon has been sweating In a cry filled with footsteps and sand Aey, aey, aey, aey Take this waltz, take this waltz Take its broken waist 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 sea 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 But who is it climbs to your picture With a garland of freshly cut tears? Aey, aey, aey, aey Take this waltz, take this waltz Take this waltz it's been dying for years There's an attic where children are playing Where I've got to lie down with you soon In a dream of Hungarian lanterns In the mist of some sweet afternoon And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow All your sheep and your lilies of snow Aey, aey, aey, aey Take this waltz, take this waltz With its, I'll never forget you, you know This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz With its very own breath of brandy and death Dragging its tail 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, and 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 wrist Oh my love, oh my love Take this waltz, take this waltz It's yours now, it's all that there is Aey, aey, aey, aey | | | | You can also reply to this email to leave a comment. | | | | |
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