| Raise your glasses high, and share with me in my joys and grievings
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| I toast to the mountains and valleys, to the future and the days gone by
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| I invite you in with good humour and levity
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| All I have is yours and I pray that you drink deeply
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| My cup has been emptied
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| So I may see, see what it tastes like to be free
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| 'Cause for so long, this glass, this glass has owned me
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| Focused on the chalice rather than what it contained
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| So I gave all of worth to the needy, and the rest to the sea
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| Then I looked around, at all of the beautiful things, that I had gained
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| That I had gained
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| What can a glass speak of it’s contents
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| And can it boast at it’s filling?
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| What else could it do but mutter a quiet thanks?
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| So it is that I look forward to my spilling’s
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| For I am sure that such times are the only thing steadying my hands from their
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| violent shaking
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| So with gladness in my heart and hope in my eyes
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| I drink to my fill of your celebration wine
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| And as I pour glass after glass
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| I’ll lift it high
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| I’ll lift it high
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| I’ll lift it high
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| I’ll lift it high
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| And give a hearty toast to life |