Our own hands were the first cup
Scooping the cooling water to our lips
Until our leaky fingers were struck
With the idea of a solid bowl
From which so many goblets
Trophies vessels have evolved
Even a chalice and a grail to hold
Even a chalice and a grail to hold
The mystery of the wine turned blood
And still I plead to take this cup
From me this sorrow and this pain
But who to give it to
The world refuses to take it up
I am myself the cup I drink
Which only your fine will can fill
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