I hoped I would never have to raise my gla** in this circumstance, while my throat is parched, dry as a drought, and it doesn't pa** and I'm holding back, the wolf known as grief that left his pack, he stands solitary over this lonely ma**, His jaws seem to shroud us in sobering thoughts, that linger on and on like double knots, he watches us closely from the pews, claws and coat spread like a cross, to blanket us from the sorrows that always come with loss
We hold our gla**es high
We hold our gla**es high, like the chalice at the alter
We hold our gla**es high, like they were made of gold
We hold our gla**es high, like the chalice at the alter
We hold our gla**es high, like they were made of gold
My thoughts are blank, there's just so many things I want to say
I let my words wander, I'm sure they'll find their way
We hold our gla**es high, like the chalice at the alter
We hold our gla**es high, like they were made of gold
Now I'm standing with my gla** raised to the ceiling, surrounded by well-wishers that are wishing for healing, waiting to hear me to build a chapel of worthy thoughts and precious feelings. I breathe deep, and I give thanks for what you meant to me
We hold our gla**es high, like the chalice at the alter
We hold our gla**es high, like they were made of gold