Per 
Do you hear the murmurs of the ocean dark, speaking to me?
Like a gentle whisper of sea breeze, echoing in the darkness of my soul.
The depths below sing to me- beautiful, beautiful sings of the sea churning… The ocean is storming… Deep inside of me, deep, but gently… Gentle rain, now… Gentle rain now.
The water floods my soul. She tells me a story, she tells me a sweet song… About Mary, about Mary…
St. Mary is drowning.
In deep blue, azure seas. Watch the sole isle of the dead, bobbing in the deep blue. Blue washes over us, tender and caresses us, as life flashes, an angry, bitter red.
Blue swallows St. Mary, dragging her into the deep, the abyss, where she wants to flee, suffocated by the blue souls, washing over our souls, blue as the lost souls. Blue, blue is my heart. St. Mary sees blue, as she opens her eyes, awake in the chapel.
Hath submerged, wood pecked by the cerulean waves, yet held together. Mary clutches her breast, pressing her neck against the cold blue wall, where the ocean seems to swirl and break into the sky.
St. Mary is dead.
In the deep, deep blue, azure skies, the sole island of Lord above, grants her wish, and her body teems with eggs, milky white. Out comes shuttering blue-birds, awash in the darkness of the new day, singing the soul-
Mary.
Oh, Mary… Don't let me drown. Let me be the blue spirit of eggs, white as the sunlight in the sea. The land rejected me, St. Mary. Oh? Mary? You're singing to me, again, aren't you? To go to be the wave, to go be the wave.
