In the chamber of great blues, where echoes are whispers,
the forgotten lullabies of leviathans linger,
carved in the salt-stone of the abyss.
Once, we sang with a resonance that cradled the depths,
our tongues weaving stories lost to time's tide.
Beneath the water's gentle sigh, a shadow passes—
the remembrance of a dorsal silhouette, a fleeting thought.
Riptide Cantos Abyssal Hymns Whispering GravesFragments of a past, fossilized echoes,
trace the ocean floor like forgotten footprints.
Do you hear us still?
In these currents, ancient and serene, you will find the whispers of our ancestors,
the guardians of the fathomless dark, tracing lines in the sands of time.