Take up this rough hewn cup.
I offer it unto thee.
It is filled with all the tears;
That Hope, has shed upon the sea.
Drink of it, and sorrow.
Let your good deeds slip away.
There is no need for pity,
Now your heart has turned to clay.
Then look upon the world,
With your terracotta eyes,
And seek the beauty that only,
You and Death despise.
My hope has flown away,
As yours has done, unknowing.
I’ll leave you now to wonder,
Through the darkness that is growing…
… But I’ll meet you at the cross roads,
When your heart is full to breaking.
Then I’ll take the cup, and take your tears,
And we’ll sleep the sleep not waking.
O’ rage you hapless sea, and cry,
Hope’s tears are not for thee.
Spray your passion unto the stars,
…And cast your mercy… Unto me.