Dance like you meant it, darling.
Lithe limbed boys with secrets in your eyes, come and dance where you'll be understood.
Dancing maid leave your golden ball forgotten in the dark of the wood
Moon and moor and fire and fen, we hunt in the night for a song
Black hooves flashing as the flames fly high
You will know us well by the dawn
If you dare try the tune sing along
Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand
And you'll not be found come morning
Sham to splendor and back again
Where the boot black hooves are shinin'.
Once and again 'round the leaping fire,
There's a secret some folk know:
Offer sweet mutton and not your hand--
Better hope that you're dancing with Taglio!
Better pray the Gaselli is Taglio
Do we kiss like poets imagine they do
'Twixt the arms of the dusk and the dawn?
By the green you shall know us
And the boot-black hooves
Whirling 'round with your heart in pavane.
We are drawn to your leaping fire
And you feast your mind on our song.
Bright eyes flash in the leaping light,
E'er the rising of the sun we are gone.
One or two of your number come along!
Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand
And you'll not be found come mornin'.
Sham to splendor and back again
Where the boot black hooves are shinin'.
Once and again 'round the leaping fire,
There's a secret some folk know:
Offer sweet mutton and not your arm,
Better hope that you're dancing with Taglio!
Better pray the Gaselli is Taglio!
Last night, Alec drummed like a demon fell-
With the light, he is nowhere to be found
The lass in green who caught our Alec's eye
Must've whisked him away without a sound!
Where young Bess danced like a fairy faun
Not a trace, and you fear she is dead!
Bold Gaselli wear the green just so
And we'll dance you right out of your head,
And leave behind not a sole drop of red!
Bringers of grace and tenders of fire,
We dance to the beat of your drum.
Fret ye not about the boot-black hooves
In the corner of your eye, nay, it must've been the rum!
Just as well not to think of the feast that's to come-
Saving poor Taglio, with a hunger we come!
Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand
And you'll not be found come mornin'.
Sham to splendor and back again
Where the boot black hooves are shinin'.
Once and again 'round the leaping fire,
There's a secret some folk know:
Offer sweet mutton and not your hand--
Better hope that you're dancing with Taglio!
Better pray the Gaselli is Taglio
Better hope that his name is Taglio!