My heart sits here, a scarlet cup
Empty, waiting to be filled up.
Vultures fly through and pick it dry,
A loss I take with a sad sigh.
I'm used to this, always the same,
A drop of love; a flood of shame.

What is this? The sun cried a tear.
This drop of life is falling near.
The vultures flee, chased by its light,
Strikes my heart, brings purity bright.
Filled with pow'r that none can contest,
You are perfect, love, and my best.