Florence And The Machine Lyrics What The Water Gave Me
You know those songs that just… hit you? Like a really good hug when you're feeling a bit meh, or that first sip of coffee on a Monday morning that tells you, "Okay, we can do this." Florence + The Machine has a knack for that. And when it comes to "What the Water Gave Me," it's less of a hug and more of a… well, let's just say a really intense baptism by sound.
Honestly, the title alone is enough to make you tilt your head, right? "What the Water Gave Me." It sounds like something you'd mutter after a particularly wild night that involved a lot of questionable decisions and maybe a questionable amount of cheap prosecco. Or perhaps after a spa day gone rogue, where the "water" turned out to be a bit too enthusiastic with the eucalyptus. You know, that feeling when something unexpected, something potent, just happens to you, and you're left feeling utterly changed, for better or for worse.
Florence Welch has this incredible ability to take these abstract, almost mythical feelings and ground them in something so real, so visceral, you can practically taste it. "What the Water Gave Me" feels like one of those moments. It's like staring into a deep well, not knowing what’s at the bottom, but feeling this undeniable pull to find out. Or maybe it's more like standing at the edge of a churning ocean, feeling both terrified and completely exhilarated by its power. We've all had those moments, haven't we? Those crossroads where you're staring down a path you never really intended to take, but here you are, and the only way is forward.
Let's break down some of the lyrics, shall we? Because honestly, they're like little cryptic postcards from a very dramatic trip. "Last night I dreamt of the ocean / And I heard the siren's song." Ah, the siren’s song. We all know that one, don't we? It's the thing that whispers promises of adventure, of escape, of something more. It's the siren song that lures you away from your sensible to-do list and towards that spontaneous road trip, or that late-night philosophical debate that probably should have been sleep. It’s that little voice that tells you, "Go on, just one more episode… I mean, one more wave."
And the "dreamt of the ocean"? Who hasn't had a dream that felt more real than waking life? I once dreamt I could fly, and for a solid five minutes after waking up, I was genuinely disappointed that my duvet wasn't a pair of majestic wings. The ocean in this song feels like that too – a place of both wonder and a touch of danger. It's the vastness, the unknown, the stuff that makes your stomach do a little flip-flop. It’s like the moment you decide to try that ridiculously spicy curry and you’re not entirely sure your taste buds will survive, but the allure is too strong to resist.
Then we get to the heart of it: "But what the water gave me / It gave me you." This is where it gets really interesting, right? It’s this idea that something profound, something life-altering, has been delivered to you by this powerful, mysterious force – and that force happens to be a person. It’s like finding that perfect parking spot on a busy Saturday, or discovering that the last cookie in the jar is actually for you. Pure, unadulterated serendipity, delivered by the universe, or in this case, by the water.
Think about it. How many times has someone just… appeared in your life and completely shifted your perspective? It’s like a sudden downpour on a parched garden. You were just existing, and then bam – there’s this vibrant new growth. Or maybe it's like finding a hidden gem in a dusty antique shop – something you weren't even looking for, but suddenly, it’s the most precious thing in the world. "What the water gave me" feels like that kind of transformative encounter. It’s the splash of cool water on your face after a long, hot day, suddenly making everything feel new and alive.
Florence’s vocals in this song are just something else, aren’t they? They build and swell like a tide, from a whisper to a roar. It’s like watching a storm roll in – you see the clouds gathering, you feel the air change, and then suddenly, the thunder cracks and the rain begins to fall. It’s cathartic, it’s overwhelming, and it’s undeniably beautiful. It’s the feeling you get when you finally let out that huge sigh you’ve been holding in for weeks.
The lyrics delve into some pretty dark and evocative imagery. "The flood was a baptism / It washed away the past." Okay, deep breath. Baptism by flood. That sounds intense, doesn't it? It's like a full-on reset button. Not just a gentle wipe of the slate, but a complete deluge. It’s that moment you decide to ditch that toxic friendship that’s been draining your soul, or when you finally commit to that daunting project you've been procrastinating on for ages. It's a cleansing, a purging, a shedding of the old to make way for the new. It’s the feeling you get when you finally declutter your entire house and you can see the floor again. Glorious!
And the "washed away the past"? Who hasn't wished for that? We all have those moments, those regrets, those things we wish we could un-say or un-do. This song feels like acknowledging that sometimes, you need a metaphorical tidal wave to sweep away the debris. It’s like when you’re going through a major life change – a breakup, a new job, moving to a new city – and you feel like you’re being carried along by forces beyond your control. It's terrifying, but also, in a weird way, liberating. You can’t fight the current, so you might as well learn to swim, right?
There’s this line that really sticks with me: "And you, you were the devil / And you, you were the angel." This is the duality of life, the push and pull of good and bad, light and shadow. It's that person who drives you absolutely insane, but you can't imagine life without them. They're the person who pushes you to be better, even when they’re being a total pain in the neck. They’re your angel and your devil, all rolled into one. It’s like that friend who tells you the brutal truth you desperately need to hear, even though it stings like a jellyfish. You hate them for it in the moment, but later, you’re secretly grateful.
The song touches on this idea of surrender. Surrendering to the experience, to the emotions, to the person who has come into your life. It's not a weak surrender, though. It’s a surrender born of strength, of acknowledging that sometimes, the greatest power lies in letting go of control. It's like finally admitting that you can’t possibly juggle all those balls at once, and letting a few of them drop. Sometimes, that’s the smartest move you can make. It's the feeling of finally leaning into something, fully and completely, even if it's a little scary.
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The imagery of drowning and being saved by the water is powerful. It’s a metaphor for being overwhelmed, for feeling like you’re sinking, and then finding salvation in an unexpected place. Or, perhaps, finding salvation in the very thing that threatened to drown you. It’s like being caught in a torrential downpour and realizing that the sheer force of it washes away all your worries, leaving you feeling strangely refreshed and renewed. It's the ultimate metaphor for finding strength in adversity. You're drowning, and then… you’re not. And you realize that the water, which was your potential demise, was also your rescue.
Florence’s delivery is so raw and emotional that it feels like she’s singing directly to your soul. It’s like she’s peered into your most turbulent inner landscape and decided to articulate it for you. This song is a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there can be beauty, there can be transformation, and there can be unexpected gifts. It’s the soundtrack to those moments when you feel like you’re at the bottom of the well, but then you see a flicker of light, and you know that you’re not going to stay there forever.
So, the next time you're feeling like you've been tossed about by the waves, or you've experienced a life-altering event that felt like a deluge, put on "What the Water Gave Me." Let Florence’s voice wash over you. It might be intense, it might be a little overwhelming, but I guarantee you, you’ll feel something. And sometimes, feeling something – anything – is exactly what we need to remind us that we’re alive. It’s like a really good cry that leaves you feeling lighter afterwards, or a heart-to-heart with a friend that clears the air and strengthens your bond. That’s the magic of it. That’s what the water gave her, and what it gives to us.