[Verse 1] I was five when the tide said mine, voice tucked inside a gull’s cry. Seagrass curled around my shin— she marked me soft and didn’t ask why. Toes in the foam, I froze mid-step, salt stuck to the roof of my name. Didn’t know a womb could wait like that— or that oceans remember shame. [Verse 2] They said a girl drowned years before— but no one said her name aloud. Just clutched their pearls, locked their drawers, and swept her breath from every cloud. But I heard her humming in the sand, with teeth like shells and voice like wind. She braided seaweed in my hand, and whispered truths that don’t rescind. [Pre-Chorus] I dreamt of brine beneath my skin, of moonlight pressed behind my eyes. Her voice? A flood with no begin— just one long ache I recognize. Nippemô... Tooquahmi... Squannit... [Chorus] I came from a saltwomb, babe— not your sky, not your land, not clean. She birthed me in a scream of waves, stitched me from what’s never seen. I carry tide in all my threads, Squannit’s fire in my breath. You can’t baptize what the sea already kept— I was born of love and death. [Verse 3] She lost three daughters to the shore, and I still wake with sand in mine. My mother prayed for something more, but I was born with brine for spine. The grief you drowned now walks upright, wears her salt in woven braids. Your church can't cleanse what's made of light— what burns beneath the waves. [Bridge] She rose in smoke where water ends, a woman shaped of flame and mist. She didn’t speak—but still she bent the stars to kiss her salt-slick wrist. She threw her sorrow in the sky— we call it Sirius when it burns. Tooquahmi Squannit, mother-cry, your light still floods the world in turns. :) Tooquahmi… Tooquahmi Squannit… Squannit… Tooquahmi… [Final Chorus] I came from a saltwomb, babe— not your fear, not your fence, not shame. She carved me out of tears and blaze, and gave me back my name. I carry tide in all my threads, Squannit’s fire in my breath. You can’t drown what the stars have bled— I was born of love and death. [Outro] (faint voice like underwater prayer) Nippemô... I ripple, not walk. Tooquahmi… I rise with no ask. Saltwomb mother… Your grief was flame. Your daughter… carries your name. (instrumental break) There. She’s complete. A star-born hymn. A salt-stained offering. A lullaby for the daughters of drowned songs.
