Track : Hooves
Artist : Current 93
Album : As the World Disappears...
neofolk apocalyptic folk industrial impossible for liberals to deal with Hooves by Current 93 from album As the World Disappears...
Duration : 0 minutes & 55 seconds.
Listener : 4555 peoples.
Played : 18123 times and counting.
Horses are riding into her arms
She lost her own way years ago
Her sister calls her from the far side of night
And she falls with that call
The only way out:
She tells me "I love you"
But it's only a game
So she slides from the silence
She's fixing a time
To move back into darkness;
Again with a smile
"Don't touch me - I'm falling"
She laughs in the night
"Don't catch me - I'll return
When the wheel comes around
You see we're all born to suffer
We're all born to fall
In the fading world
That calls us to Zero"
She touches my body;
I crouch up to die
Down the ramblers we're walking;
In Reykjavik, talking
She's reading a book
Finished years ago
She's tearing up paper - she's tearing up life
But she only starts thinking
When her blood is brown
Gold is the colour she promised to wear
But Christ's blood turns black
His body she bears
But she dipped him in water, and she blackened the faith.
It's hard to believe them when they spit in your face
And I don't want to touch you;
I don't want to lie
In the brownredgold slumber
That you've taken to ride
I remember I was thinking only of you
And I built you a playground,
It was built up with crosses.
But you wanted a valley
Where horse could run free
We knew it was over when you stammered out lies
It's hard to keep riding when the world is on fire
It's hard to keep riding when your eyes fill with blood
It's hard to keep riding when your grip has grown slack
It's hard to keep riding when your network is sliding
We were listening to lions at Flantern with James
We were riding the trams to kneel at his wake
Though Christ is impaled through the Cross with His hands
You'd make your own gospel centred on hooves
Christ I was thinking of Your bended arm:
It is blue on the outside; it is blue on the inside
You said as you buckled, as if you would die:
There's no point in living... there's no point in life
There's spit on the bridle: there's blood in the saddle
And you slip in the shit - you shat in yourself
And Christus is Equus - and Equus is floored
You follow in footsteps made by a flower
Then I wanted to touch you -
But you're destined to fall