[Verse 1]
They gather on the shore, cameras in hand,
Chasing the sight they don’t understand.
But under the lens, the feeding runs low,
Not for wonder, but hunger, with nowhere to go.
The whale comes close where the krill beds quit,
A tourist lens tries making sense of it.


[Verse 2]
They call it rare, a gift to behold,
But under the surface, the readings run cold.
The crowd cheers loud, their joy misplaced,
Missing the cost in the animal’s face.
Whales don’t wander for joy or play,
They follow less food through a narrowing way.

[Pre-Chorus]
What feeds them now?
Nothing arrives.
Where do they turn?
The shelf runs dry.
No wonder here, just a food chain running thin.

[Chorus]
Strangers in their own water, drawn by hunger’s call,
Not seeking wonder, just what’s left to fall.
The sea gives less shelter, less room to find,
Moving through fallout we left behind.

[Outro]
The waves come in with tourist light,
Cameras raised for the wrong kind of sight.
No home range left, no feeding ground,
Just boat hull noise where krill once found.

The birds still work the empty zone,
Every close approach misread alone.
The water persists, but the pattern is wrong,
Less to follow, less to feed on.