My cup has been filled
Soon to be tilt
Then blood will be spilt
Over a cup that's been spilt
Because it was tilt
Yes, it was once filled
Now a rigid red stain
On this fine wood grain
Mother will go insane
Yes, mother will go insane
And blood will be spilt
All upon mothers quilt
Because wine was spilt
From the cup that was tilt
It was overly filled
To be spilt
When motioned to tilt
Peter steps in
He stops at the door
Hangs up his coat
The pocket has been torn
The keys are falling
On to the floor
From the hole in the pocket
Of the coat at the door
Now as the keys fall
The air is displaced
The new man reads
The look on her face
Mother is knowing
This is her place
Nothing surprises
You can tell by her face
