Lyrics by Mervyn Graham

Gemini Girl

She with the eyes the color of cold, deep water,
And hair like sun-bleached ice.
Her shirt is the color of the desert floor,
Scrubbed thin by years of wind and dust.
She is not a queen, but a finder of lost things.
She discovered it where the temple walls finally gave up,
Where the red rock split open like a cracked egg.
In a the crypt beneath the dunes,
Where the air had been still and perfect for ages,
It waited.

The obsidian disk has a bronzed eye, wide as the woman's hands.
The etched with concentric rings of stories,
Things that have already been forgotten.
A lion on two legs, a winged human,
A wheel of nameless, fixed stars.
The gems are more than jewels; they are fixed points,
Purple and blue pinpricks of meaning,
A whole galaxy held in a handful of metal.
It is not a map of the ground, but of confluence.

Who made it? Not a single hand.
The precision is too ancient for our tools,
Too alien for our designs, yet too human
In its metaphors.
Perhaps the work of a forgotten conclave,
A blend of earthly stonecraft and star-borne knowledge.
A fusion of civilizations that should not have met.
It belongs neither entirely to the sky,
Nor purely to the earth.
It is a ghost of a fusion.

She holds it like a shield as it reveals it's secret.
Its weight in her palms is an old language.
She is not its maker, but knows it's key,
The first to hear its metal sing again,
The one whose breath is needed
To wake the sleeping geometry.
It means a time is near.
A shifting of the sky and the sand.
She looks out at the dying light,
Her gaze not on the ruins,
But on the invisible lines the disk traces,
Following the path it opens.

Mervyn Graham (03 April 2026)