With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea
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
Oh my love, Oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It's yours now. It's all that there is
{Instrumental}
Lorca, followed closely by Cohen, has switched from the previous  “Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay!” , a somehow desperate exclamation to  “O my love, O my love”  for the ending, as if passing the baton to the lover (in the next lines), possibly anticipating the (narrator’s) imminent death.
Take This Waltz