Elizabeth, My worship is a secret. Loose the chalice for me, From the tangles of your long brown hair, Let it out. Hand me the cruet. It's this moment that I speak of. Oh, to bless my please In the rancor of your mhyrr-stained arms. Let me in! Maybe I could have shown you How my mouth is like a baby's. Were you ever too told To make holy of an infant's tongue? Let it go, Let it go, Let it go, Let it go.