Flood Waters

Josh Garrels builds this song around a love measured against the largest things he can name — higher than a mountain, deeper than the sea, wider than east is from west — and then insists it began as something as small as a seed. The second verse turns darker: death's cords hang heavy around the neck, but the song promises they will be left behind at a great divide. That image gives the chorus its force, as flood waters rise and love refuses to wash away, holding on more fiercely than the grave. A later verse reaches past the moon over open plains and past the longest bloodline to an immortal flame, then locates grace in the space between forever and passing days — a place decay cannot touch. The language is plain and scriptural in cadence, closer to a hymn than a pop hook, and the repeated flood image carries both danger and the assurance that something survives it. The closing line names grace as the face of love, tying the whole song's argument together: what outlasts the water is not human endurance but a love that began small and refuses to be buried.