Made from the clay and the stars (Anunnaki)

Before the crown, before the throne,
Before the first name carved in stone,
Something burning crossed the dark
And fell to Earth like heaven’s spark.

Anunna…
Those who came down.

Long before Babylon rose from the sand,
The younger gods worked the rivers by hand,
Cutting the canals where the two streams meet,
Building their kingdom in dust and heat.

They burned all their tools and surrounded the gate:
“We’ve carried enough of this burden and weight.”
Enki said, “Why let rebellion begin?
Shape us a worker from clay, blood and skin.”

From the Abzu water, from the red earth ground,
From the blood of a god when the old ones came down,
The mother shaped clay and altered the plan,
Then something awakened and called itself man.

Made from the clay, made from the stars,
Blood of the old gods and code in our hearts.
Born for the mines, now look where we are,
Made from the clay and the stars.

They gave us the word, they gave us the flame,
Gave us a number, a duty, a name.
Were they our gods or travellers from afar?
Made from the clay and the stars.

Anunna, Anunnaki,
Written down in cuneiform.
Anunna, Anunnaki,
Were we made or were we born?

Some say Nibiru emerged from the night,
On a wandering orbit concealed from our sight.
Its cities were dying, its atmosphere cold,
So they crossed through the darkness in search of our gold.

They landed at Eridu, bright in the rain,
With fire beneath them and wings without flame.
A ship looks like heaven when heaven splits wide,
So people bowed down to the gods from the sky.

Enki the scientist, keeper of streams,
Mixed earthly blood with celestial genes.
But something went wrong, or something went right:
The worker looked upward and understood light.

It learned how to love, how to dream and rebel,
And remembered the stars where its makers once fell.

The cities grew louder, the people increased,
The fields became kingdoms, the villages streets.
Enlil heard the noise and hardened his face:
“They’ve broken the order—extinguish the race.”

First sickness and famine, then drought on the ground,
But Enki kept showing his people a route.
The council decided the flood would descend
And wash every city and seed to an end.

Bound by his oath, Enki spoke through a wall:
“Reed wall, remember and carry my call.
Destroy your own dwelling and build you a boat;
Take seed of the living and all that can float.”

Leave all your riches.
Preserve what has breath.
The waters are coming.
Outrun your death.

Bring beast, child and wife.
Carry the code of life.

Made from the clay, made from the stars,
Blood of a god and a code in our hearts.
Born for the mines, now building an ark,
Made from the clay and the stars.

They gave us the word, they gave us the flame,
Then sent down the water to bury our name.
Were they our gods or travellers from afar?
Made from the clay and the stars.

Seven long nights, there was nothing but black,
The wind struck the vessel, the flood thundered back.
The cities disappeared underneath the grey,
And the maps of the old world were washed away.

Even the gods grew afraid of the storm,
No fires below them, no incense at dawn.
Then sunlight broke through and the world breathed again;
The boat found the mountain, the bird crossed the rain.

Enlil descended in anger and cried,
“How did one family remain here alive?”
Enki stepped forward: “Your judgement was blind.
Punish the guilty, not all humankind.”

Maybe the gods were exactly as written,
A quarrel in heaven, a flood without pity.

Maybe the heavens were only a name
For visitors riding on pillars of flame.

Maybe the blood was a sequence of code.
Maybe the ark held a biological load.

Or maybe the story is human alone:
Our fear of the flood and the power of the throne.

But somewhere inside us, beneath every scar,
We’re still asking why we keep watching the stars.

Made from the clay, made from the stars,
Blood of the old gods and fire in our hearts.
Built as their servants, but look where we are—
Made from the clay and the stars.

We carry the word, we carry the flame,
We rose from the water and kept our own name.
Gods or invaders, wherever they are,
We’re more than the clay and the stars.

Whatever they planted, the future is ours—
Made from the clay and the stars.

The tablet is broken,
The signal is scarred,
But something still calls us
From out of the stars.

The tablet is broken…
But the signal remains.