I think much like another song “Anti-Matter” (that's also on the same album as this song), this one is also is inspired by a horrifying van crash the band experienced on Nov 3, 2022. This, much like the other track, sounds like it's an extension what they shared while huddled in the wreckage, as they helped frontman Garrett Russell stem the bleeding from his head wound while he was under the temporary effects of a concussion. The track speaks of where the mind goes at the most desperate & desolate of times, when it just about slips away to all but disconnect itself, and the aftermath.
[PART I]
[crone:] here upon this pillow
Made of reed and willow
You're a fickle little twister
Are you sweet on your sister?
Your fallow won't leave you alone.
And granted for their pleasure
Possesions laid to measure
She's a salty little pisser
With your cock in her kisser
But now she's a will of her own.
[PART II]
[husband:] damn your ankles and eyes wide
From you fingernails to your ponytails too.
King of the insects and the m-5
Over charlemagne in a motorcade too.
And baby needs a new prize
Baby needs a new and shiny prize.
[captain:] in this place called heavenly
You were born here.
This place called heavenly
You were born here.
You were born here.
[husband:] and now all the marchers descend from high
I will dedicate all of my awakenings to this.
And damn all the angles that opress my sight
I will bleed your heart through a samovar soon.
[captain:] in this place called heavenly
You were born here.
This place called heavenly
You were born here.
You were born here.
[PART III]
[soldier:] they settled dust in your hair
To watch you shake and shout it out.
With our armaments bared
We shed our bags and travel alls.
From the lee of the wall
He comes in the chang and the chariot
And all his eunuchs in thrall
Can scarce lift his line and lariat.
Here com loose his hounds
To blow me down.
[chorus of waifs:] blow me down.
[soldier:] on this stretch of ground
I'll lay me down.
[chorus of waifs:] lay me down.
[soldier:] to sleep.
[chaplain:] and now stricken with pangs
That tear at our backs like thistle down
The mirror's soft silver tain
Reflects our last and birthing hour
[soldier:] here com loose his hounds
To blow me down.
[chorus of waifs:] blow me down.
[soldier:] on this stretch of ground
I'll lay me down.
[chorus of waifs:] lay me down.
[soldier:] to sleep.
[PART IV]
[evening]
[widow:] o the wind is blowing, it hurts your skin
As you climb up hillside, forest and fen.
Your arms full of lullabies, orchids and wine
Your memories wrapped within paper and twine.
The room that you lie in is dusty and hard
Sleeping soft babies on piles of yards
Of gingham, taffeta, cotton and silk
Your dry hungry mouths cry for your mother's milk.
When the dawn commes to greet you, you'll rise with clothes on
And advance with the others, singing old songs
Of cattle and maidens and withered old queens.
Let the music carry you on.
The room that you lie in is dusty and hard
Sleeping soft babies on piles of yards
Of gingham, taffeta, cotton and silk
Your dry hungry mouths cry for your mother's milk.
[PART V]
[woman:] darling dear what have you done?
Your clothes are town, your make-up runs.
[daughter:] I ran through brambles, blooming thistle
I washed my face in the river when you whistled me on.
[woman:] darling dear, what hav eyou done?
Your hands and face are smeared with blood.
[daughter:] the chaplain came and called me out
To beat and to butcher his mother's sow
[woman:] but darling dear, they found him dead
This morning on the riverbed.
But hush now darling, don't you cry.
Your reward's in the sweet by-and -by.
Hush now baby, don't you cry.
Your reward's in the sweet by-and-by.
[crone:] and now we've seen your powers
Softly stretch the hours
You're a fickle little twister
Are you sweet on your sister?
As now you go wandering home.
[crone:] here upon this pillow
Made of reed and willow
You're a fickle little twister
Are you sweet on your sister?
Your fallow won't leave you alone.
And granted for their pleasure
Possesions laid to measure
She's a salty little pisser
With your cock in her kisser
But now she's a will of her own.
[PART II]
[husband:] damn your ankles and eyes wide
From you fingernails to your ponytails too.
King of the insects and the m-5
Over charlemagne in a motorcade too.
And baby needs a new prize
Baby needs a new and shiny prize.
[captain:] in this place called heavenly
You were born here.
This place called heavenly
You were born here.
You were born here.
[husband:] and now all the marchers descend from high
I will dedicate all of my awakenings to this.
And damn all the angles that opress my sight
I will bleed your heart through a samovar soon.
[captain:] in this place called heavenly
You were born here.
This place called heavenly
You were born here.
You were born here.
[PART III]
[soldier:] they settled dust in your hair
To watch you shake and shout it out.
With our armaments bared
We shed our bags and travel alls.
From the lee of the wall
He comes in the chang and the chariot
And all his eunuchs in thrall
Can scarce lift his line and lariat.
Here com loose his hounds
To blow me down.
[chorus of waifs:] blow me down.
[soldier:] on this stretch of ground
I'll lay me down.
[chorus of waifs:] lay me down.
[soldier:] to sleep.
[chaplain:] and now stricken with pangs
That tear at our backs like thistle down
The mirror's soft silver tain
Reflects our last and birthing hour
[soldier:] here com loose his hounds
To blow me down.
[chorus of waifs:] blow me down.
[soldier:] on this stretch of ground
I'll lay me down.
[chorus of waifs:] lay me down.
[soldier:] to sleep.
[PART IV]
[evening]
[widow:] o the wind is blowing, it hurts your skin
As you climb up hillside, forest and fen.
Your arms full of lullabies, orchids and wine
Your memories wrapped within paper and twine.
The room that you lie in is dusty and hard
Sleeping soft babies on piles of yards
Of gingham, taffeta, cotton and silk
Your dry hungry mouths cry for your mother's milk.
When the dawn commes to greet you, you'll rise with clothes on
And advance with the others, singing old songs
Of cattle and maidens and withered old queens.
Let the music carry you on.
The room that you lie in is dusty and hard
Sleeping soft babies on piles of yards
Of gingham, taffeta, cotton and silk
Your dry hungry mouths cry for your mother's milk.
[PART V]
[woman:] darling dear what have you done?
Your clothes are town, your make-up runs.
[daughter:] I ran through brambles, blooming thistle
I washed my face in the river when you whistled me on.
[woman:] darling dear, what hav eyou done?
Your hands and face are smeared with blood.
[daughter:] the chaplain came and called me out
To beat and to butcher his mother's sow
[woman:] but darling dear, they found him dead
This morning on the riverbed.
But hush now darling, don't you cry.
Your reward's in the sweet by-and -by.
Hush now baby, don't you cry.
Your reward's in the sweet by-and-by.
[crone:] and now we've seen your powers
Softly stretch the hours
You're a fickle little twister
Are you sweet on your sister?
As now you go wandering home.
Lyrics submitted by ADimeADexter
The Tain (Parts I-V) Lyrics as written by Colin Meloy
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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Part IV: After Cuchulainn (who is roughly 17 at this time, if I remember correctly) has been fighting bravely and fiercely for a long time against challengers and whole armies, and even the Morrigan herself (a war goddess/fairy who does not take rejection well AT ALL), he's exhausted and very badly wounded. He can't go on like this much longer, and he knows it. But his real father, Lough--another god/fairy who has been the typical absent immortal father up to now--shows up. He tells Cuchulainn "You're doing a great job, but you need rest. Oh, and I'm your dad." Cuchulainn worries that if he sleeps, Ulster (his home province of Ireland which he is defending ALONE) will be slaughtered. Lough promises him that he'll find a way to protect Ulster while Cuchulainn takes some R&R. Lough then leads Cuchulainn to a cave, magically seals the entrance, and sings him to sleep. While Cuchulainn sleeps for 3 days, Lough uses magic herbs and a magic lullabye to heal his son. THIS is that lullabye. I love that moment in the story because you don't see a lot of good parenting from immortals in most mythologies. Even though Lough has not been there for Cuchulainn's childhood, when his boy really needs him, Lough steps in and acts like a good father.
On to Part V!! Okay, this I'm much less sure on, but I think it might be an argument between Maeve and her daughter Finnabair, who Maeve has been using as a carrot on a stick to get men to fight Cuchulainn. "If you win, you can have my smokin' hot daughter." In some versions of the Tain, Finnabair does not find out until very near the end that Mommy has been using her to lure hundreds of men to their deaths, and when she does find out, she kills herself from shame soon after. I think this is Finnabair shortly after she's realized what Maeve has been doing, but before she's decided to commit suicide. She's furious at her mother, but she can't directly call her mom a murdering pimp because her mom is a powerful and ruthless war-mongering queen. So she's giving veiled responses that show she's upset and who she's upset at. The end of the song is Maeve telling Finnabair that yet another soldier has died on the riverbed (all the duels were at a river) for HER, and Mom is now trying--in vain--to console her distraught child that things'll be okay and be worth it eventually. Which turns out to be untrue. The MORAL: Parents, only pimp your kids with their permission.