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[Black water low drone. Distant cicada static. Single hard wood knock on hollow hull. 48 BPM. Sparse bowed low string. Close wet room. No drums.] The boards are thin tonight. Something white is already under them. It knocks once. [Verse 1] [Am – Em – Dm – Am. Dry close male baritone, almost spoken, close-mic. Mouth-harp warps low. No drums.] They left the child where the salt would not claim No water on the forehead, no hand, no name. The bayou closed over the unclaimed skin And the white thing learned the shape of hate from within. It stays where the moonlight breaks and goes thin A tear that moves when the pirogue swims in. You hear the small cry before the wood gives And the pale little fingers find the ankle that lives. [Pre-Chorus] [Low wet drones thicken. Tempo holds. Vocal drops to dry whisper. One bowed string scrapes.] Listen. The boards are already talking. The claws find the boards and the boards come home. [Heavy hit.] She will turn you over. [Heavy hit.] She will turn you over. [Heavy hit.] She will turn you over. [Final Chorus] [Full slow crush. Child’s voice now equal volume then overtaking. Wet reverb only on the child. Male voice dry under.] (Letiche, Letiche, come up under) (Letiche, Letiche, the water’s colder) (Letiche, Letiche, no holy holds her) (She will turn you over) -She will turn you over- -She will turn you over- (ma ma) [Child’s voice alone, flat, fading under black water.] Letiche. [Same chords. Half-muted guitar opens then chokes closed. Vocal more sung, still dry and close. Child’s voice leaks under the final two lines.] The small bones stay. The cry does not stay. It comes through the hull when the fog is gray. She says mama the way a child would say it Then the white hand tightens and the dark is the gate. No teeth at first. Just the pale little mouth. Then the mouth opens wider than a child’s mouth. The water taught the rest. The gators taught the rest. She keeps what she pulls and she does not rest. [Pre-Chorus] [Tighter. Scraping under the hull, not a clean knock. One low string.] Listen. She is already under you. -scrape- -scrape- -k-k-knock- (She will turn you over) -She will turn you over- -She will turn you over- [Tempo drops to 36. Instruments out except water and one low string. Spoken, dry, close. Then sudden heavy gated 7-string hits on the final three lines.] If you reach for the rosary she takes the hand. If you call for the priest she laughs through the sand. She was never allowed the name or the light So she keeps what she finds in the dark of the night. The white face smiles with a mouth full of bone. The claws find the boards and the boards come home. [Heavy hit.] She will turn you over. [Heavy hit.] She will turn you over. [Heavy hit.] She will turn you over. [Final Chorus] [Full slow crush. Child’s voice now equal volume then overtaking. Wet reverb only on the child. Male voice dry under.] (Letiche, Letiche, come up under) (Letiche, Letiche, the water’s colder) (Letiche, Letiche, no holy holds her) (She will turn you over) -She will turn you over- -She will turn you over- (She will turn you over) -She will turn you over- -She will turn you over- (ma ma) [Child’s voice alone, flat, fading under black water.] Let[Outro] [Water closes over the last scrape. Eight seconds of black nothing. One final distant knock, then silence.]