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MADE WITH SUNO AI The song opens with ominous orchestral strings and brass, gradually joined by dramatic percussion, Verses feature clear, soaring studio vocals with subtle piano and harp, The chorus delivers a full symphonic onslaught—thundering drums, powerful choir, and sweeping strings—escalating intensity lyrics Oh. Oh. Nothing is over... In the beginning there was nothing. In the silence and the veil, from the dark womb the sky was born. Gaia rose naked, without name or law. She was earth and blood before becoming king. Her breasts nourished mountains and sea. Each flower, a sigh, each glance. She created the sky, time, death, love, but none of them honored her with fervor. For years, she made the sky out of passion, but he feared her power, her creation. And the children they brought forth together were cast into the abyss without seeing life. Sing, Oh earth, your forgotten song, mother of the gods, in hidden mourning. From Gaia came life and its end, but her name was lost in the garden. From titans to men, from nymphs to kings. All drank from her faithful sires. But who remembered her song? Who brought her a gesture, a heart? She wept in the volcanoes and the sea. She screamed silently in the trembling of the hearth, and even forgotten she continued to give fruits, shelter, and the green of love. But the world grew and drifted away. It made steel its god, profit its show. They cut her veins, burned her children, and the mother fell silent amidst screams and rails. She sleeps under the pain of the lash, no one hears her, no one is her source. But under the stone she still breathes and awaits the day when everything turns around. For the mother does not die, she only waits, like cold in the leaves of spring. And when her children are lost forever, she will raise her judgment in pride. But if one child, just one, remembers her song, if he kneels at the root and asks forgiveness, she will bloom again without judgment, for mother is pain, but also she... Gaia rises from the bones of the world, your lost name returns fruitful. Sing the song that never ended. For of the mother who gave everything, Nothing ended. Nothing is over... Oh. Oh. For from the mother who gave all things, Nothing ever truly ended.