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