Pequeño vals vienés

En Viena hay diez muchachas,

un hombro donde solloza la muerte

y un bosque de palomas disecadas.

Hay un fragmento de la mañana

en el museo de la escarcha.

Hay un salón con mil ventanas.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!

Toma este vals con la boca cerrada.

Este vals, este vals, este vals,

de sí, de muerte y de coñac

que moja su cola en el mar.

Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero,

con la butaca y el libro muerto,

por el melancólico pasillo,

en el oscuro desván del lirio,

en nuestra cama de la luna

y en la danza que sueña la tortuga.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!

Toma este vals de quebrada cintura.

En Viena hay cuatro espejos

donde juegan tu boca y los ecos.

Hay una muerte para piano

que pinta de azul a los muchachos.

Hay mendigos por los tejados.

Hay frescas guirnaldas de llanto.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!

Toma este vals que se muere en mis brazos.

Porque te quiero, te quiero, amor mío,

en el desván donde juegan los niños,

soñando viejas luces de Hungría

por los rumores de la tarde tibia,

viendo ovejas y lirios de nieve

por el silencio oscuro de tu frente.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!

Toma este vals del "Te quiero siempre".

En Viena bailaré contigo

con un disfraz que tenga

cabeza de río.

¡Mira qué orilla tengo de jacintos!

Dejaré mi boca entre tus piernas,

mi alma en fotografías y azucenas,

y en las ondas oscuras de tu andar

quiero, amor mío, amor mío, dejar,

violín y sepulcro, las cintas del vals.

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 --

Ay, ay, ay, ay

Take this waltz, take this waltz,

take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.

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 --

Ay, ay, ay, ay

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.

Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture

with a garland of freshly cut tears?

Ay, ay, ay, ay

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 --

Ay, ay, ay, ay

Take this waltz, take this waltz,

with its "I'll never forget you, you know!"

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 --

O my love, O my love

Take this waltz, take this waltz,

it's yours now. It's all that there is.

Copyright © Leonard Cohen

and Sony/ATV Music Publishing Canada Company.

All Rights Reserved.