I hoped I would never have to raise my glass in this circumstance, while my throat is parched, dry as a drought, and it doesn’t pass and I'm holding back, the wolf known as grief that left his pack, he stands solitary over this lonely mass, 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 glasses high

We hold our glasses high, like the chalice at the alter

We hold our glasses high, like they were made of gold

We hold our glasses high, like the chalice at the alter

We hold our glasses 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 glasses high, like the chalice at the alter

We hold our glasses high, like they were made of gold

Now I’m standing with my glass 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 glasses high, like the chalice at the alter

We hold our glasses high, like they were made of gold