My Ship Sails by iServalan for Tale Teller Club Book of Immersion

Blue android art by iServalan for Tale Teller Club

My ship sailed forth

In shark infested seas

That brought my sisters

To their knees

Trouble waters wet my stern

High waves at every turn

My ship sailed forth

In monsoon rains

And lost the memories

Of Mother's gains

Pirates raped my body

Of its pride

And youthful glory

(Just to know you, just to see them, just to know them)

My ship sailed forth

Into the Four Winds

Who fought all ways

To clip my wings

To blind mine eyes

Leave souls behind

(Just to know you, just to be there, just to know you, just to feel them, just to want them)

My ship sailed forth

My bow went down

A darkened Hell

Beneath the swell

Starboard toughed the sky

In waves that high

(Just to know you, just to have them, just to want them, just to feel them, just to have them, just to see them , just to want them)

But now

Where sun meets moon

And swallows dancing

Swoon

Where dreams compete

One's hopes to meet

My ship sails forth

In stiller waters

The ripples left

by mothers, daughters

To guide a fate

To end the wait

My ship still sails

(Just to know them, just to be them, just to see them, just to have them, just to feel them, just to want them, just to have them)

🌊 Ship of Sirens – A Tale Teller Club Release

When a ship sets sail in storm seas, it carries more than wood, rope, and sailcloth. It carries memory. It carries ghosts. It carries the voices of mothers and daughters who whisper across centuries. Ship of Sirens is that vessel.

The lyrics speak in three tongues:

The spoken word, steady and unflinching, tells the raw story of disempowerment. Girls brought to their knees, bodies raided of pride, storms that take more than they give. These lines are the timber and hull — battered, scarred, but still afloat.
The dreamlike whispers, half-heard and hidden in brackets, drift through the song like spectres. They are the unspoken inheritance of women: the quiet strength that slips down the generations like saltwater in the veins. Ghosts of grandmothers and unborn daughters weaving their force into the living.
The wailing, rising and falling, is the sea itself — a haunting wave that comes and goes, like equality itself: sometimes thundering, sometimes receding, but always returning.

And beneath it all, the drums stamp heavy and insistent, echoing the march of the Cadre Women from The Book of Immersion. In the lore of Immersion, the Ship of Sirens was theirs to command: an ark of resistance, a vessel that stamped against silence. Each beat here is both storm and footfall, rebellion and heartbeat.

Ship of Sirens is more than a track. It is a ritual of resilience.
It sings of seas that try to drown us, yet reminds us: the feminine force does not sink. It whispers through ghosts, it stamps through storms, it sails forth — always.