| What was the catalyst, the final offense, that forced her presence
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| To intervene, to make known, this planet of stone, is truly her bone
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| And her flesh, ripples with troughs and crests
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| And our lakes, are her breasts
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| And her veins, quench our thirsts
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| But we pour our filth in first
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| Our judgment came not in flame, but in flood
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| A crawling lake of brine, thick with oil, thick with blood
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| Beg for, forgiveness from higher ground
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| Scents of cetacean serpents carried for miles
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| One baleen grin hides another serrated smile
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| When, pectoral fins block out the sun, all is lost
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| For those out of her reach, she’ll swell rivers into the creeks
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| Pushing creeks into the streams, until the highest lakes boil and teem
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| Torrential flows carving pinnacles clean
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| We are debris from which god’s hands filter feed
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| When new shores lap at our highest peeks
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| The world as we know it will flow past their teeth |