"Bright Horses" as written by and Nicholas Cave....
The bright horses have broken free from the fields
They are horses of love, their manes full of fire
They are parting the cities, those bright burning horses
And everyone is hiding, and no one makes a sound
And I'm by your side and I'm holding your hand
Bright horses of wonder springing from your burning hand

And everyone has a heart and it's calling for something
We're all so sick and tired of seeing things as they are
Horses are just horses and their manes aren't full of fire
The fields are just fields, and there ain't no Lord
And everyone is hidden, and everyone is cruel
And there's no shortage of tyrants, and no shortage of fools
And the little white shape dancing at the end of the hall
Is just a wish that time can't dissolve at all

Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, well, this world is plain to see
It don't mean we can't believe in something, and anyway
My baby's coming back now on the next train
I can hear the whistle blowing, I can hear the mighty roar
I can hear the horses prancing in the pastures of the Lord
Oh the train is coming, and I'm standing here to see
And it's bringing my baby right back to me
Well there are some things too hard to explain
But my baby's coming home now, on the 5:30 train


Lyrics submitted by Mellow_Harsher

"Bright Horses" as written by Nicholas Cave

Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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    General CommentThis is one of my favourite songs in Ghosteen. Someone on YouTube pointed out that in Ireland, adding “teen” to a word can mean a little version of something; therefore, “Ghosteen” — little ghost — Arthur, the beloved son he lost.

    I’ve heard Cave give his thoughts to a fellow grieving soul on the existence of spirits. His answer suggests that the poetry and comfort of this sentiment are more important to him than a definitive answer. I think he’s exploring the same thing here: just because something such as this might not be literally true, if it’s this personal, is it not okay for you to believe in it, if you’re inclined to? Why take that away from yourself or anybody else if that’s what they need to do. He permits himself to dream that he will see his son again, and that this may not be realistic is inconsequential if it allows him to feel any measure more connected to his memory. You’re rather fierce and wise, like Nick Cave, if you can practice poetry as a mode of thought about things so sacred.

    We’ve been brutally hardwired — we can’t stop caring about some things, even though this means that we might have to mourn certain things eternally. Poetry is to my mind an apparatus that lets us think about truths that might not exactly belong to any category of science, or anything tangible, but mean something to us all anyway, something ineffable. We share truths. Whether we like poetry as such, I’d say we all think like this about certain things, which is rather imperfectly beautiful of us. You’re rather fierce and wise if you can practice poetry as a mode of thought about things so sacred, it’s entirely humane and generous.

    I don’t want to tell you what I think about spirits, I want you to believe whatever helps you the most. My love to all those with their own Arthur’s — please do be kind to yourselves, let someone else ask that of you. It’s okay to spite the darkness.
    TonyWilsonon November 06, 2019   Link

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