[Intro, low whisper, wet and intimate] Mmm… The cold water knows my name, mon cœur. Down below, they whisper. Bella comes. Bella carries. Bella keeps. [Verse 1, soft, haunted, French-tinted phrasing] I woke in a body already drowned, blue skin cold where the moon looked down. Dead girl hands, but another soul, rowing the canals where the black tides roll. They say, “Bella, why you hide these bones?” I say, “Some dead should not sleep alone.” Spirit Wardens come with bell and flame, but they do not remember one little name. Petit children, I take free, wrap them soft where no crow can see. Murdered lovers in the gutter rain, I tie their hands so they meet again. [Pre-Chorus, emotional, rising] Oh, I hear them in the water, hear them under stone, every nameless body wants a place called home. And if you call me monster, then call this city worse. It kills them, sells them, burns them clean, then prays away the curse. [Chorus, brutal, powerful, huge drums] This is my collection! My cold-water crown! Every body in my keeping is a soul they could not drown! This is my collection! Mes beaux morts, my beautiful dead! I keep them from the furnace and the bells above their heads! Bring me the lost ones, bring me the broken, bring me the names that must be spoken. Down in the deep, where the black tides run, Bella keeps them one by one! My collection! My collection! Touch them wrong and your blood runs cold! My collection! My collection! La mort does not mean they must be sold! [Verse 2, darker, proud, rhythmic] Under my gondola, quiet and tight, hagfish cages with the old marks bright. Bridge-mouth, sewer, lock and drain, I know every place where a corpse feels pain. Traitor bodies cost heavy coin, bad blood stinks when the waters join. You want him gone? Alors, pay my price. Stone on the chest and a prayer said twice. Some walking dead come knocking low, “Bella, ma chère, do you have flesh to show?” I look in their eyes, I weigh their need, not every hungry ghost deserves to feed. [Pre-Chorus, more intense] Oh, I hear them in the water, hear them call me near. Some beg for silence, some beg for fear. And some still need a name, love, some still need a face. So I steal them from the Wardens and hide them in grace. [Chorus, brutal, powerful, full band] This is my collection! My cold-water crown! Every body in my keeping is a soul they could not drown! This is my collection! Mes beaux morts, my beautiful dead! I keep them from the furnace and the bells above their heads! Bring me the lost ones, bring me the broken, bring me the names that must be spoken. Down in the deep, where the black tides run, Bella keeps them one by one! My collection! My collection! Touch them wrong and your blood runs cold! My collection! My collection! La mort does not mean they must be sold! [Bridge, soft, eerie, almost loving] I wash the mud from your fingers, comb the river from your hair. Put funeral flowers near your mouth, tell the deep gods you are there. I know your mother never found you, know your lover never came. But Bella keeps a little book, and Bella writes your name. [Breakdown, whispered over drums and low bass] No bell. No crow. No furnace glow. No law. No chain. No nameless pain. My boat. My tide. Mes morts, they hide. My hands. My vow. Sleep safe now. [Verse 3, intimate, mentioning Match] And when the water cannot keep, when the wrong thing starts to creep, I call red-finger Match by night, she brings me fire with underwater light. Blue flame dances where the canal runs black, burns what must never come back. She loves the spark, I love the bone, two strange sisters, both alone. [Final Chorus, massive, emotional, brutal] This is my collection! My cold-water crown! Every body in my keeping is a soul they could not drown! This is my collection! Mes beaux morts, my beautiful dead! I keep them from the furnace and the bells above their heads! Bring me the lost ones, bring me the broken, bring me the names that must be spoken. Down in the deep, where the black tides run, Bella keeps them one by one! My collection! My collection! Touch them wrong and your blood runs cold! My collection! My collection! La mort does not mean they must be sold! [Outro, soft, mournful, fading] Cold water knows my name. Dead eyes watch me row. If you are lost and no one claims you… Bella knows where you go. Ma collection. Ma collection. Sleep now, little dead. Ma collection. Ma collection. Rest your weary head.
