I found this:

Sing me a shanty and whisper me a rhyme
and take my hand, turn me around.
Hum me a poem, something truthful,
Whistle me a painting, crisp and clean.

Dressed in a ballroom gown, she dances,
She dances strong and she dances fast,
On the edge of the tallest mountain,
One more step, and she'll break like glass.
Ballroom gown, and she'll break like glass.

A writer, a writer, married my young mother,
Offered her magic, and offered her charm,
A liar, a liar, married my young mother,
And carried her away in his liar's arms

Hidden beneath a mask, he dances,
He dances proud and he dances tall
On the tip of his own destruction,
One more smile and he falls, he falls.
'Neath his mask, he falls, he falls.

A child, a child, bore my young mother,
A girl with her eyes, her smile and laugh.
And the writer, the writer, her young husband,
Was gone for days, with each wind that passed.

So my mother, my mother, she took her child,
Wrapped me tightly in cloth, in cloth.
Climbed to the heavens, in ballet shoes,
And she whispered to me, as she danced, as she danced,

"Sing me a shanty and whisper me a rhyme
and take my hand, turn me around.
Hum me a poem, something truthful,
Whistle me a painting, crisp and clean."

Dressed in a ballroom gown, she dances,
She dances strong and she dances fast,
On the edge of the tallest mountain,
That last step, and she broke like glass,
Oh that last step, and we broke like glass