There are ten of those girls in Vienna
a shoulder on which you see Death have his cry
there's a shred of the morning emitting a sigh
in a cornerstone of the museum of frost
and a park where stuffed pigeons get lost
          oh, oh, oh, oh!
cherish this taciturn waltz in your arms

Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz
of itself, of our death, and of cognac
in its own pace it moistens the back
of its tail in the sea

I want you, I want you, I want you
the armchair, the Book of the Dead and go through
the discouraging hallway to tumble and bolt
quickly up to the loft with its lilies of gold
in our bed of the moon's shrouded beam
and the dance of which tortoises only can dream
          oh, oh, oh, oh!
keep whirling this waltz with its ruptured intestines

There are four halls of mirrors to see in Vienna
where your voice and the echoes can play
and a death for piano with brushes is stroking
blue paint on the boys
on the roof tiles the beggars are warming
themselves at tears fresh from the garlands of mercy
          oh, oh, oh, oh!
keep whirling this waltz that dies out in my arms

For I want you, I want you, my love
in the attic where children are knights
I keep dreaming of classic Hungarian lights
in the sultry excitement at the end of the day
I am looking at snowy white lilies and sheep
that so quietly lie on your forehead to sleep
          oh, oh, oh, oh!
keep whirling this waltz, I'll embrace you forever

With you I will dance, I will dance in Vienna
a river wells up from my mask of mascara:
its banks are grown over with hyacinths!
There I will leave my sweet mouth with your thighs
and my soul in the photos and flowery labyrinths
darling, my darling, it's time, I give in
so I'll leave in the darkness of rollers emerging your footprints
the grave of the waltz with the ribbons and my violin