Song Lyrics
all your sheep and your lilies of snow
There s a tree where the doves go to die, to the pools that you lift on your wrist, with the photographs there
and i ll yield to the flood of your beauty
All your sheep and your lilies of snow, take this waltz it s been dying for years, and the moss
Take this waltz with the clamp on it s jaws, my cheap violin and my cross Leonard, take this waltz
It s yours now, take this waltz
take this waltz
They ve been sentenced to death by the blues, and i ll dance with you in vienna Leonard, where i ve got to lie down with you soon
In some hallways where love s never been, with the photographs there
in a dream of hungarian lanterns
take this waltz
in the mist of some sweet afternoon
My cheap violin and my cross, take it s broken waist in your hand
there s a piece that was torn from the morning
it s all that there is
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews, there s a bar where the boys have stopped talking
there s a bar where the boys have stopped talking
on a chair with a dead magazine
with the photographs there
where i ve got to lie down with you soon
take this waltz
where i ve got to lie down with you soon
And i ll bury my soul in a scrapbook, there s a lobby with nine hundred windows, i ll be wearing a river s disguise
My cheap violin and my cross, there s a concert hall in vienna
there s a concert hall in vienna
on a bed where the moon has been sweating
On a chair with a dead magazine, there s a concert hall in vienna, with the photographs there
There s a lobby with nine hundred windows, i ll be wearing a river s disguise
And you ll carry me down on your dancing, take this waltz
And i ll see what you ve chained to your sorrow, with a garland of freshly cut tears
Take this waltz it s been dying for years, there s a piece that was torn from the morning
With the photographs there, take this waltz
But who is it climbs to your picture, take this waltz with the clamp on it s jaws, there s a bar where the boys have stopped talking
It s all that there is, they ve been sentenced to death by the blues Take, there s a bar where the boys have stopped talking
with a garland of freshly cut tears