What was the catalyst, the final offense, that forced her presence
To intervene, to make known, this planet of stone, is truly her bone


And her flesh, ripples with troughs and crests
And our lakes, are her breasts
And her veins, quench our thirsts

But we pour our filth in first

Our judgment came not in flame, but in flood

A crawling lake of brine, thick with oil, thick with blood

Beg for, forgiveness from higher ground


Scents of cetacean serpents carried for miles
One baleen grin hides another serrated smile


When, pectoral fins block out the sun, all is lost


For those out of her reach, she'll swell rivers into the creeks,
Pushing creeks into the streams, until the highest lakes boil and teem


Torrential flows carving pinnacles clean
We are debris from which god's hands filter feed


When new shores lap at our highest peeks
The world as we know it will flow past their teeth