In the middle of my journey, I walk.
I walk into a hallway; I walk into the dark.
The walls mock me; they oppress me, in here there is no talk.
I walk but I see nothing; death has left its mark.
As I walk, I see no light,
I’ve lost all hope, why should I care?
I see no point, I’ve lost my might.
These experiences—God forbid anyone share.
But I continue to walk; the halls are cold.
Here all life is in danger; in fact, it’s non-existent.
There are no birds, no bugs; there is no sign of the world.
However, I continue to walk; I walk because I’m persistent.

In the dark I stumble; in the dark I fall.
Why do I walk? What’s in it for me?
As my eyes can finally see, I cry; no, I ball.
I see a cup—it’s up ahead—no one is holding it . . . it’s free.
The cup is liberty; the cup is a blessing.
I get closer—the cup is hope; no, it’s happiness.
I reach the cup—the cup is a song I want to sing.
I can touch the cup—the cup is love; the cup indeed I bless.

Water flows onto the cup, it’s an eternal pouring.
The cup is pure gold, it shines as it fills.
As it overflows, the excess falls . . . soaring . . .
It falls to the floor; I watch as the water spills.
I cannot help but to admire this cup,
It is diamond-studded . . . a treasure for the King.
This is more than a cup . . . I decide to look up,
I rejoice; who knows the wealth this could bring?

I am a rich man!
The cup is fragile, it has been through much.
I decide to keep the cup; if anyone can fix it, I can!
But I am unable to remove it, the cup is for the hallway; it’s too much.
The water that has fallen now fills the room.
In the likeness of the tiles, the water does flow.
The flow is a never-ending cycle; it makes the hallway bloom.
I see an opening above the cup, the light shines; I show:
I show myself to the cup, it hangs suspended in air.
The cup is beautiful; the cup and the hallway are eternally connected.
I read the cup; the inscription says “Le Cadeau”—that’s what stays here.
The beauty of the cup lures the eyes of man, but the hallway keeps it protected.

I see the relationship so clearly now:
The cup gives life to the hallway.
The hallway nurtures the cup; I could now only bow.
You see, the presence of the cup is overwhelming; but I have to stand tall.
I feel myself amongst these walls and quickly, I realize:
I am the hallway; I am the hallway in its darkness and in its strife.
The halls are my hands, a thought I would not trivialize.
I nurture this cup . . . I could love this cup . . . the cup is my life!

Without me, the cup is a treasure.
Without the cup, I am lost . . . I am nothing.
The embrace of the cup is warm; a sort of godly pleasure.
As I embrace the cup, there is no death; there is no fussing.
I am connected to this cup.
But if I am the hallway, then who is this cup? The thought excites me!
I see my cup overflowing with the blessings as I look up.
I know who the cup is . . . I want to love the cup . . . the cup is she.

Because of the cup, I am now reformed:
I was dark and cold, now I’m warm and beaming.
I want the cup to love me; without it, my walls are deformed.
The cup is mine—I am for the cup—my tiles are cheering.
In the darkness of my halls, the cup brought hope.
Now I can accomplish much more,
The cup gives my halls strength; we are connected like rope.
She is my cup and I wish to love her forevermore . . .