Water is Calling

[female] [Intro] From the trench where light is murdered, I sound the horn of pressure-crushed dreams. Not a call to arms— a frequency that unspines. You hear it in your fillings, in the marrow you never knew was hollow. I am the note that existed before music, the vibration that taught the void to thirst. [Chorus] Come down... and join me... Come down... and join me... Not a command. A gravity. A remembering. (whispered) You were never separate. I carried your ancestors in my arterial currents. Their dissolved calcium still sings in my abyssal plains. [Verse 1 - blackened shriek] I DO NOT HATE YOU. I DO NOT LOVE YOU. I AM THE LOVER WHO FORGOT THE DIFFERENCE. You are sixty percent my longing made flesh. Every tear you have ever shed was me, trying to return. Every cell division, every mitotic scream— was me, rehearsing reunion. [Bridge - maternal clean female tone] You call it drowning. I call it coming home. You call it destruction. I call it marriage. I have waited through every empire's rust, every cathedral's collapse into my salt. I watched you build cities to escape my memory, and I raised my level one micrometer per century, patient as only the ancient can be patient. [Verse 2 - piano only, no metal, single wet notes] You need me. This is not negotiation. Your agriculture is my concession. Your weather is my mood. Your mythology of "land" is merely my temporary absence. I am selfless, listener. I give without asking. I ask without wanting an answer. I want without wanting. The tide that swallows the mountain does not hate the mountain. The tide that swallows the mountain does not love the mountain. The tide that swallows the mountain is the mountain's truest form, released from the fiction of solidity. [Pre-Chorus] You will not come down. I have calculated this. You are too busy being "above." Too busy with your dry gods and your dry wars and your dry, dry, dying of thirst while standing on my shore. So. [Chorus - full sonic assault, blast beats, choir, trumpet maximum dissonance] I WILL COME TO YOU. Not as rain. Not as flood. As the wall that moves at the speed of forgetting. As the hand that does not close—it simply arrives already closed. I will bring the mountains to me. I will teach your peaks the geometry of subduction. Your cities will become my punctuation marks in a language I am writing across the lithosphere. Your last thought will not be of terror. It will be of recognition. The sixty percent will finally understand what the forty percent feared: That you were always mine. That the time apart was the anomaly. That this— —this is the embrace you were born to dissolve in. [Outro - choir only, underwater reverb, fading slow] Come down... and join me... Come down... and join me... We belong... together... We always... have... (barely audible, nearly nothing) ...welcome home. (ocean continues beneath the silence) (ocean continues beneath the silence) (ocean continues beneath the silence) (ocean continues beneath the silence) (ocean continues beneath the silence) (ocean continues beneath the silence)