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Anáil nathrach, ortha bháis is beatha,
do chéal déanaimh...
We trace the bloodlines down through flesh and bone,
Carrying echoes from a parallel zone.
Amara vara mara vara vara...
Dohaeris
to the chains of what was passed,
In every reality,
the shadow is cast.
A soft, echoing (meaw meaw meaw)
vibrating in the dark.
{glacial tape hiss, subterranean sub-bass} Shift the grid!
Watch the lineages fracture and glow!
In dimension four, our ancestors run the show!
Blood isn't prison—it's a signal to transmit,
An open-source code where the timelines fit!
Anáil nathrach! Amara vara mara!
Skechers scuffing across the planetary floor,
Blowing the locks off every genetic door!
(meaw meaw meaw) in a digital stutter,
While the physical laws of reality flutter!
{cello swells, stuttering breakbeats} Dohaeris to the illusion of where we began.
We rewrite the code of the ancestral plan.
Anáil nathrach, ortha bháis is beatha,
do chéal déanaimh. Amara vara mara vara vara.
(meaw meaw meaw) resting back in the deep,
shifty ambient hum. {warm drifting tape loops,
glass-harps}
Absolute four-genre synthesis. Absolute lineage sovereignty.
Tara, Captain Quinn, and the tetra-realm crew.
(meaw meaw meaw) fading into silence.
{granular purr, tape-stop effect}