On Lisbon’s back, where the Tagus river and the Ocean meet, on the concrete pavement that separates the metropolis from the water, waves collapse caressing the coast only for brief moments. They caress the cement in pendular gestures, and the cement answers with verses of an old song that was born there, a song waves repeat as they return to the sea. Erosion makes pieces of the ground come loose, pieces the current brings with itself, transporting the city to exotic, familiar places. Somewhere in the horizon, Lisbon, motionless, loses sight of its fragments, interrupting its glance to witness a new wave breaking on the coast. The foam touches the pavement again, bringing with it other landscapes that the city remembers without having ever seen them. The whispering, lyrical voice of the waves leaves behind a new melody caught up in objects that are revealed as the water retreats. They timidly sing over the cement, hoping to be able to moor there, and exchange verses with the metropolis. Lisbon gives place to a new sound which is born in the coast and renews with each wave, mirroring its own complex and fragmented identity on the water.