Take me to Vienna where the music walks. Where the buildings invite you to sit, And accompany them for a cup of melange. Where the many palace gardens have jovial pique-niques, With their bikes resting by the trees.
Take me to Vienna where life ebbs out Where the past lives on, And composers wave out the windows.
Take me to Klimt's golden city, The city where even the grey Donau is welcoming. Take me to Vienna and don't take me back.
Life, I stand on your bank’s edge, frightened of a slip that might bring a struggle I could not win. You flow by with no effort. I envy you. You swirl as if some magic occurs within your darkest green ― the colour of the elm’s fullness during twilight. You flow forever, past. I have little to offer but three silver coins and my hope that you will accept them with my anguished prayers. Let them sink through your swiftness to your stillness. Let them join others’ gifts to clothe your bed in a radiant coverlet you have earned.