Inspirations: Water

Water, water wash
Water wash over me, cool me down
Cool me down
Water, water leave
Water leave through the valleys you wore down
Wear me down

Drown me in the water
Drown me in the sea
Lose me in the dark
Drag me to the deep
Let your water wash over me

Water, water rise
Water rise up and roll through the islands
Roll down the streets
It's short-lived, boys, short-lived, boys
Find a woman and dance through the moonshine
Leave me the rain

Drown me in the water
Drown me in the sea
Lose me in the dark
Drag me to the deep
Let your water wash over me

Drown me in the water
Drown me in the sea
Lose me in the dark
Drag me to the deep
Let your water wash over me

Wash
Wash
Wash
Wash

Drown me in your water
Drown me in the water
Drown me in the sea
Drown me in the water
Drown me in the sea
Drown me in the water
Drown me in the sea

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Jack Garratt

Water lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

When I hear these lyrics, I feel water become a verb inside me. Not scenery, not background, but an action the body submits to. “Wash over me, cool me down.” That is the sound of a mind overheated by living too long in its own weather. I know that heat. The kind that comes from carrying too much narrative, too many sharp hours, too many held positions. Water arrives as permission to stop gripping. To loosen the jaw of the self. To let temperature replace thought.

The valleys you wore down feel intimate. Water does not argue with stone. It studies it. It returns again and again until the hardest places give up their shape. When the lyric says, “Wear me down,” I hear a desire to be edited by nature. Not erased, but softened. I have spent years armored by experience, by memory, by vigilance. This song asks for another education. Let the edges blur. Let the self become sediment. Let time and motion do what willpower never could.

“Drown me” sounds violent at first, but inside the poem it becomes devotional. It is not death that is wanted. It is disappearance of control. To be lost in the dark, dragged to the deep, is to stop standing upright in pain. It is to finally lie down inside something larger. Water is honest that way. It does not flatter the body. It takes it. It holds it. It rocks it into another grammar. When I imagine this, I do not feel fear. I feel rest. I feel the wish to be carried instead of carrying.

The rising water through islands and streets feels like memory flooding civilization. Short lived, boys, short lived. That line reads like a shrug at permanence. Youth, certainty, even resistance, all of it evaporates. What stays is movement and rain. Find a woman and dance through moonshine is not romance. It is survival through motion and shine and temporary light. Leave me the rain says, let me keep what falls. Let me keep what rinses.

By the time the word “wash” repeats, the song has turned into a ritual. Wash the history. Wash the posture. Wash the story I keep telling myself about who I have to be. Drown me in your water becomes a plea for reentry into something original and unguarded. Not to vanish, but to be remade liquid for a while. To stop being a monument and become a current.

These lyrics speak to the part of me that wants less architecture and more tide. Less explanation and more immersion. They ask for surrender without shame. For cleansing that does not ask questions. Just water. Just motion. Just the quiet courage of letting myself be changed by what touches me long enough.