When telling what the song shows, the singer says "I am now seeing..." rather than describing what others see. Speaking in the first person is a form of respect: it does not force the story onto anyone or assume what is in their mind.
A song sung along a route can store practical geography: where to find fish or spear wood, which way is shortest or longest, and where not to go. Singing it calls up a bird's-eye view of the ground passing below, so the knowledge travels in memory rather than on paper.
The song does more than describe the land; each singing reconnects and remakes the places it passes through. On arriving at one place, the singer sings toward the next, so the links between people and place only last as long as they keep being sung.
These songs loop back over the same ground rather than running in one direction through time. Each repetition goes deeper, so understanding grows by returning, not by moving on to something new.
A women's keening chant, heavy with grief and joy at once, makes everyone stop and lets the dead be pictured travelling their journey home. Each listener can put their own lost father or sister in the boat, so one singer's mourning becomes a shared passage for all.