• The daughter, she waltzes, a child of joy,
    The product of mischief and reason and rhyme.
    And asks those she meets (Que dia es hoy?)
    She is locked in her passing, and passing of time.

    The daughter, she waltzes, of frail, fragile make.
    She glides with the graces that men always lack.
    The bittersweet gift of a bitter mistake,
    She never will learn she can never go back.

    The daughter, she waltzes (Te gusta bailar?).
    And a ballad she sings under full silken moon
    Her song sweeps the desert, from near unto far.
    She waltzes precisely, the last shadow lune.

    The daughter, she waltzes, her father in tears.
    As he longs to embrace the descendant of night.
    For the daughter is spawn of his wildest fears.
    And her hypnotic dance will consume him in fright.