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Introduction
Asking for cover
The first words feel like a half-remembered dream flickering into focus. The speaker names a swirl of elements—petals, rock, storm, rust—then invites a higher force to “Shadow me.” Right away we know they’re stepping into dangerous growth territory and looking for guardianship.
“Rust be the delirious scream, worship his whisper”
Those nine words clash violent decay with hushed devotion. It’s the push-pull of transformation: pain screams, spirit whispers. The cocoon is already humming, and the narrator is pressing an ear against it, desperate to decode what comes next.
Theme here is vulnerability. A body on the verge of metamorphosis needs shielding from the storm it can’t yet fly through.
Chorus
Mantra for protection
The hook strips language down to almost pure rhythm, then lands on the central plea.
“Shadow me, Mother… with your ear to the cocoon”
Notice how “shadow” works double duty. It means follow closely but also block harsh light. The narrator wants presence and shelter in one move. Swapping “Mother” for “Father” shows they’ll take cover wherever they can get it. The chant builds a sonic blanket, repetition weaving the cocoon tighter.
On a bigger scale this is about trusting ancestral echoes. Put your ear to my growing pains, listen, and keep me intact until I’m ready to crack open.
Bridge
The vision loops
“Her luscious ache dreams a symphony, we all soar on”
The bridge turns into a meditation circle. The phrase “petal rock black” repeats like a rosary bead, pairing softness with heft and darkness. Over it, the line above floats by, reinforcing that beauty and pain share a pulse. The word “we” widens the lens: every listener joins the chrysalis, all of us aching toward flight.
“Shelter me, Mother… Cover me, Father”
Alternating calls blur gendered divinity. Protection isn’t tied to a single form. It’s about synergy—rock and petal, mother and father, light and pitch black. The loop hypnotizes, making the request feel timeless, almost primordial.
The tension eases here; instead of bracing against the storm, the speaker trusts the ritual repetition will summon the shield they need.
Conclusion
Emergence pending
The song never gives us the moment of rupture. It stays inside the sealed case, ear pressed, heart thundering. That open ending is the point. Metamorphosis is private work, and asking for witness doesn’t hurry the timeline. WILLOW leaves us holding the cocoon, listening for wings that haven’t formed yet—and realizing our own shells might be rustling too.
