The chalice is filled to the brim with blood red wine
A sorrowing man, an acquaintance with grief
They sit contemplating the loss of their precious time

There in a weekly ritual marking a rebirth, an end
A dance with darkness, a spilling of mind
The weary write down stories, accounts left unsigned

The moon hangs hidden unseen by the souls in armor
A young girl standing in front of the mirror views another
She laughs at the remarkable roundness of life's design