Translated by A. Z. Foreman - The Woman Dancing lyrics

The woman dancing lifts her face Pa**ive amid the wilting flowers; The Jazz-band clacks its sticks and bones In great gay rhythm through the hours. Men clad in black take turns to lead her; Dwarfed sense blinds them as they rotate: That is how moons of Saturn gyre And cosmically migrate. Saturn, however, doesn't look That sad, inert and faraway As though upon night's brooding face Lay glorious ruins of day.