The morning tide... cold and gray. Echoes of a world... drifting away. Concrete ruins under hollow skies. Silence reflects in Gaia's tired eyes. The scent of salt, a memory of rain. We carry the weight, we carry the pain. But deep inside... beneath the decay. A spark remains, waiting for the day. GAIA, BREATHE AGAIN, SHAKE THE DUST. TURN THE ASHES INTO HOLY TRUST. TIDE IS RISING, WASH THE TEARS. BREAK THE SHADOWS, END THE FEARS. Saplings crawl through the cracks of stone. Nature reclaims what we thought we’d own. A quiet pulse, a rhythmic beat. Healing the ground beneath our feet. GAIA, BREATHE AGAIN, SHAKE THE DUST. TURN THE ASHES INTO HOLY TRUST. TIDE IS RISING, WASH THE TEARS. BREAK THE SHADOWS, END THE FEARS. Spiritus mundi, revive the light. Salva nos, in aeternum. GAIA, BREATHE AGAIN, SHAKE THE DUST. TURN THE ASHES INTO HOLY TRUST. TIDE IS RISING, WASH THE TEARS. BREAK THE SHADOWS, END THE FEARS. The tide returns... Gaia, we pray.
