Waves crash like war drums calling, the shoreline trembling deep— A simple life is breaking as the storm begins to speak. I caught a gleaming creature, a fish of golden fire. It begged me for its freedom, I spared it its desire. But when I told my wife the tale, her breath began to burn— For mercy wakes no gratitude in hearts that yearn and yearn. “One wish,” she said, “is just the start— go ask the fish again. If fate has opened up its door, I’ll walk through every end.” Oh, Ilsebill, your hunger grows, a storm inside your restless soul! From hut to hall to throne you rise— the sea turns black beneath your cries. Oh, Ilsebill, can’t you see? Each wish rewrites our destiny. The waves are pounding, wild and still— your greed commands and breaks my will! The fish kept granting power, the sea began to change— The sky grew bruised and violent, the wind turned sharp and strange. She craved a crown, an empire, no border held her mind— But every wish she hungered for was tearing at the tide. “One throne,” she cried, “is not enough— the stars belong to me! Return and tell that golden fish I must command the sea!” Oh, Ilsebill, your hunger grows, a storm inside your restless soul! From queen to emperor you ascend, but power never finds an end. Oh, Ilsebill, can’t you see? Each wish distorts reality. The ocean rises, winds unchain— your voice shakes heaven like a flame! But ruling worlds meant nothing— she wanted to be God. To rule the sun and moon and void, to strike creation’s chord. “Go ask the fish,” she thundered, “the cosmos must be mine!” And lightning tore the blackened sky in one almighty sign. The sea collapsed in roaring black, the world began to yaw— Her throne dissolved in cosmic dust, devoured by nature’s law. The fish arose in rising waves, its gaze a cold decree: “No mortal takes the universe— nor dares command the sea.” Thunder breaks— her kingdom falls. Greed devours— it conquers all. The sea reclaims what none can own— and drags her from her final throne. Oh, Ilsebill, your hunger grew, until the sea erased the truth. From godlike dreams to broken sand— we’re back where all began. Oh, Ilsebill, the price you claimed was everything the world had named. The ocean whispers, cold and still: “No mortal bends the sea’s own will.” Back in the hut, the waves return, the lesson learned, the ashes burned. Her voice still echoes in the wind: “Bring me the world… bring me the world…”
