I’ve always tried to minimize your faults,
Darling, but I’ m afraid I’ ve hit a wall.
Waltzes are outdated yet one wants to waltz.
They’ re tearing down the old dance hall.
Darling, I’m afraid I’ve hit a wall
when it comes to your mother, that old bag.
They’re tearing down the old dance hall.
We never get tired of that old schmaltz.
As for your mother, that old bag,
it’s clear she thinks I’ m going to Hell.
We never get tired of that same old schmaltz.
I’d like to push her into a well.
It’s clear she thinks I’ m going to Hell,
or to Heaven, but just to be her hand maid.
I’d like to push her into a well.
The children outside are selling lemonade.
In Heaven I’ll be someone’s hand maid,
or a shop girl. That’s a smart girl’s fate.
The children outside are selling lemonade.
The shadows are growing; already it’s late.
“Shop girl" is the smart girl’s fate
in a world of limited possibilities.
The shadows are growing; already it’s late;
hungry silhouettes move through the trees.
It’s a world of limited possibilities though
I’ve tried to minimize your faults.
Hungry silhouettes move through the trees
and waltzes are outdated, yet one wants to waltz.