#hozier lyrics ..something something

[fibvlaa]

I think they like each other

[hawkeshepshots]

[hiraeix]

back at it again with the hozier lyrics

[charlotte-queen-owl]

You're too sweet for me...🥃

[madbard]

I just realized another reason I love Hozier’s music. It’s not just that the lyrics are complex, or the music itself is beautiful - it’s that Hozier is a musical liar.

Take Cherry Wine. This is a song about an abusive relationship, told from the perspective of someone very much in love with their abuser. Throughout the song, the narrator describes their lover’s cruelty. Lyrics like “I walk my days on a wire” and “open hand or closed fist would be fine” make the darker aspects of their relationship all too evident. At points, the song suggests that they are defending this relationship to someone else who cares about them (“it looks ugly but it’s clean. Oh mama, don’t fuss over me”) and even the more beautiful and seemingly romantic lines later in the song (“oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing”) have dark undertones (what else is sleep to the freezing but death?) Still, I often come across the song being used in a wholesome, romantic context. A lot of factors contribute to this, but I would argue that this song mainly gets mistaken for a romantic song because of how soft and gentle the music is - it presents as a sweet love song in every way except the lyrics. Even those lyrics are told through the lens of someone defending their broken and abusive relationship, deepening the lie. Our narrator wants to portray this relationship as something dark, yet also immensely beautiful and encompassing. The result is a song about the agony and pleasure of a broken relationship, disguised so well as a love song in every possible way that it gets mistaken for something romantic. (Even if you are aware of the meaning, there is still that deep urge to experience the song as something romantic. Just like the narrator, the listener is drawn in by beauty and the powerful idea of love, so much so that it can blind them to reality.)

Variations of this can be seen in Talk. In this song, the narrator makes their intentions very clear - they are sweet-talking someone in order to hide their own thoughts and desires (“I try to talk refined, for fear that you find out how I’m imagining you”). Despite knowing this, the sheer power of the lyrics (“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus / when her body was found. / I'd be the choiceless hope in grief / that drove him underground. / I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee / that made him turn around, / and I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice”) overwhelms the listener. We know the speaker is putting on a show. We know they have ulterior motives, and likely don’t even believe what they are saying. But their words are so beautiful that we don’t care. The intense, almost mythic music in the background is so lovely and deep, it makes the lyrics seem genuine, because what lie could sound so astounding and true? In this case, the song about smoke and mirrors and empty talk becomes a love song because the narrator is just that skilled at lying.

Even songs like Too Sweet, sung by a narrator who refuses to be with someone unless they allow their standards to slide, become ‘romantic’ and ‘sweet’ to certain listeners - not because the lyrics are impenetrable, but because so many of Hozier’s narrators are unreliable. His songs spin sweet stories, lies so stunning that listeners are willing to deny what they know in order to experience the beauty of that untruth, the complexity of that space between what is real and what we want to believe.

And isn’t that more true to the experience of being a person, and loving other people, than the simple truths we often see in these types of songs?

[finleycannotdraw]

can anyone hear me

[angelofsmalldeaath]

'cause my baby's sweet as can be, she give me toothaches just from kissin' me — a.h.b.

cw: fem!reader, mentions of food, mentions of diets, kinda suggestive, fluff (literally at this point what else do i write other than sickly sweet, domestic fluff)

for two weeks now he’s been on a diet so strict it’ll put a hollywood starlet to shame. 

it’s necessary, he’s aware—he needs to be fit to perform on stage every night for hours, keep up his energy. he needs to entertain. he’s indulged enough in the last few months anyway. 

which is why when the smell of chocolate and vanilla wafts out of the kitchen, his head turns. his eyes flutter shut of their own accord, his mouth floods with saliva. 

fuck. 

it really is a divine smell. 

he imagines the silly little animals in cartoons, imagines their anthropomorphic feet lifting off the ground, the noses trailing the translucent vapours, leading them to the source of it. a giant batch of warm, homemade biscuits in this case. 

he won’t fall for it though, he knows it’s not for him—it’s for the neighbour’s boy of all people, for his 10th birthday, apparently. still he can’t resist taking a peak. 

when he stops at the threshold of their kitchen, he finds exactly what he predicted. 

the kitchen is bathed in rainbows, sunlight filtering through all the sunlight stickers on the windows. the music isn’t deafeningly loud, but it’s loud enough that she barely hears him when he walks in. she’s too engrossed to even hear him snickering at her off-key singing. 

“hello, you,” he smiles, hugging her from behind. she jumps a little at first but melts the moment his arms wrap around her. “this smells delicious.”

“so have one,” she shrugs. the tiny movement intensifies the sweet smell clinging to her—sugar and vanilla and chocolate. something that matches her so perfectly that he can’t resist sliding her hair aside to place a little kiss on her shoulder.

“you know i can’t, you cruel woman.” another kiss, longer than the last one. “i’ll have one, and one more, and one more, and, well…there might not be any left for the birthday party.”

she sighs deeply, pretending to be engrossed in thought, giggling when his kisses turn more frequent, lips moving from her shoulder to her back, to the nape of her neck. 

“on second thought,” he breathes onto her skin, enjoying the way she shivers in response, “i could eat you, you're the sweetest thing in the world.”

“you called me cruel two seconds ago!”

“mmm yes, it is cruel how perfect you are now that you say it.”

“what’s gotten into you, huh?” she laughs, a touch too breathy to be teasing. he could decipher her laughs in his sleep—this one particularly. she’s enjoying it, she just won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. 

“pretty baby,” he nips at her earlobe, “i like watching you bake. you have this look on your face of utter concentration…tongue poking out and all.”

“do i? didn’t know you had such domestic fantasies about me.”

“oh i have a variety of fantasies about you.”

he knows she’s biting her lip without even looking at her. it’s in vain though—she’s never been able to stifle a smile, not around him. he prides himself on it too much. 

“keep a few biscuits for us, will you?”

she turns partially, furrowing her brows. “thought you didn’t want any.”

he takes the opportunity, turns her around by the waist until she’s pressed flush against his chest, trapped between him and the kitchen island. he sees the small smudge of flour on her cheek then, even the smudge of chocolate on the corner of her lip from when she no doubt snuck a piece. or two. 

“‘s not for me,” he clicks his tongue, bends till his nose is pressed to her cheek. “‘s so you could eat them, and kiss me after. it’ll make them sweeter that way.” 

even with his eyes closed he feels her cheeks flushing, feels the thud of her heart when he kisses the chocolate smudge away, flicking his tongue over her lip in the process—something he simply can’t resist. then he brushes the flour away with his knuckles and tilts her chin up until she has no choice but to look at him. 

“stop flirting with me,” she frowns deeply, trying to look all serious and jabs a finger in his chest. “i have a kitchen to clean.” and even that lacks any conviction. she’s enjoying far too much to put up any facade. 

“unless—” he’s not even surprised by the perfect puppy eyes at this point “—you wanna clean it for me? you do love me, don’t you?”

and that’s definitely a trap he’s walked right in. 

he laughs, rests his forehead on hers for a moment. “go sit down, i’ll take care of this.”

she pumps her fist in the air, not even trying to be the least bit subtle. and just like always, he’s fallen for it (for her really) hook, line and sinker.

[carmen-berzattos]

There's something at the tip of my tongue about the parallels between Jackie and Wilson and Who We Are

How the narrator of Jackie and Wilson wants to run away with a woman that he's carved out of his imagination based on a brief interaction. How they would try the world, but good god it wasn't for them. So they run away from it into a fantasy world where they live by their own rules.

And then comes the narrator of Who We Are, who dreamt his whole life of finding someone who would hold him like water or like a knife, only to find that running away from the world will only get them so far, since "the hardest part is who we are". And only to find out that the "phantom life" he's fantasized about is actually just that: a phantom. And its absence sharpens like a knife

[arcielee]

We gave our time to something undefined

Summary: Aemond receives a late night visitor. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Word Count: 2.7k+ Warnings: Kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, and Aemond is still the consent king 👑. Author's Note: This is part 2 of Quietly, it slips through your fingers though I may do a third, as they have me hostage Gif edit by the wonderful @myfandomprompts. A big thank you to my beloved @aemondsbabe for being my beta reader and helping me hone my craft. Also ñuhon is Valyrian for mine, and sȳz riña is good girl, but I trust you all already know that one. 😈

Aemond was poised in front of the fireplace, dressed in cotton sleeping trousers and a tunic that was unbuttoned to his navel; his silver hair was slung over his shoulder in a low braid. A golden hue spilled from the hearth and washed over his practiced stoicism, his one eye trained to the flames that were crackling and curling around the blackened logs.   

His arm was stretched on the rest, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm to battle how his heart was still rattling against his ribs; his other was bent, fingers pressed into his prominent chin. He swore he could still smell the remnants of the heaven he had touched earlier, something that was both sweet and intoxicating, something that now consumed him wholly. 

He thought back to earlier that night, to after he had torn away from the small hall, his heated steps leading him throughout the corridors in a desperate search for an exit that would bring him outside of King’s Landing. He knew that Vhagar would be awaiting him, the she-dragon keenly aware of her rider’s agitation. Aemond longed to climb aback of her, to tear over the night sky, as if his ire could only be sated by dragonback. 

Or so he initially thought. 

He could not say what had stopped him—perhaps the low rumble of his nuncle. It pulled him to watch from the shadows as Daemon and his daughter, Baela, took their turns to growl at one another about the night’s events.

Rhaena was also present, also watching. 

She was a woman now, with the same quiet confidence Aemond recalled as he watched her observe her father and her sister. He noted that she did not meet with their bravado on display, but instead remained watchful; her head tilted slightly with a flicker of amusement across her lovely features. 

It reminded Aemond of Driftmark, all those years ago when everyone gathered to grieve, to pay their respects for Lady Laena. He was only a boy but still aware of the  heavy sadness in her eyes that absorbed everything around her. He recalled when her gaze fell to him, how it rooted him to the stone. Rhaena watched at his failed attempt to try and speak from his heart; she did not scowl, but merely held a clear curiosity for whatever he had to say. 

Instead, his tongue thickened and he  walked away, the grief unsaid. 

How quickly her expression changed later that night, how her lovely eyes burned with betrayal when he sauntered back, covered in ash, dragonless no more—

“—I know Dark Sister sings for blood,” and the taunting words brought Aemond back to see Baela  squaring off towards Daemon. At that same moment, Rhaena noticed him, as if she was drawn to how his blood now burned in his veins. 

Aemond stalked away, quickly and quietly, his ire rekindled. He thought of the patronizing expression that had shown in the lines of Daemon’s face. Arrogance will weigh the dragon down, his sister often sang; Aemond only scoffed at the thought.  

You have lived too long, nuncle.

He heard the footfalls echoing behind, though he did not think they would follow him out to the terrace. Aemond planted his palms to the cool stone of the balustrade, greeted by the sea breeze and the distant rumble of Vhagar. He then felt her presence, that same curiosity from long ago. 

You are lost, princess.

Aemond wished to frighten her, but she did not balk, but remained stance, facing him just as Baela had Daemon. Her gaze was unwavering, analyzing, almost desperate to see what was underneath. His fingers itched to show her, removing the eyepatch but even then she responded in a way that he never thought possible. 

There was no pity to be found, just a genuine remorse that left him shattered—the softness and the warmth of her lips against his marred side, his skin prickling from her touch. 

Back in his room, Aemond could feel the warmth emitting from the embers in front of him, or perhaps it was from the memory of what had followed that kiss, of how she fit against his chest, of how she looked up at him unabashed, unafraid, unwilling to leave him. 

His fingers flexed, balling back into a fist, still feeling the ghost pulse of her erratic heartbeat from the pleasure he had pulled from her… 

His blood simmered, but a soft tap on his door brought his mind back into his room. Aemond moved, a flash of silver to welcome the distraction. When he opened the door, Rhaena slipped in; she was quick to pull it closed behind her, her back pressing against the oak, breathless. 

His every nerve was alight as he drank in the sight of her–her deep breaths, the rise and fall of her chest, her lithe curves pressing the pastel silk of her nightdress and her skin peering through the matching silk robe hastily pulled over. Her silver locs had been knotted back into a long braid, accompanied with a pleasant scent of rose water. 

Her eyes held the same look from earlier, wide and glassy, uncertain but also unwilling to leave. 

Aemond swallowed. 

You came, he wished to say, but his arrogance won his tongue. “So soon, princess?” 

I had to see you, she did not reply, but instead her face shifted into a coy facade. “You told me to come find you if I wished to find satisfaction…” 

Her words ignited something within him and Aemond closed the space between them. His one palm grabbed her hip and the other moved to touch her jaw, gently tilting her head to claim her lips just as he had out on the terrace. Her trepidation from before was gone, now replaced with a warm familiarity as her tongue curled in rhythm with his own. 

Aemond hummed his pleasure and Rhaena pulled him closer until he melded against her, the surge of fire meeting fire with a burning desperation. She gasped softly and he deepened the kiss, drawing the air from her aching lungs. His leg shifted between her thighs with a pressure that made her mewl, softly, sweetly. It trilled the length of his spine, his cock throbbing against the seams of his slacks. 

He pulled back and reached for her hand, her fingers lacing as though they belonged in his grasp. She followed quietly as he pulled her towards the bed, a giggle spilling, gleeful. Then Aemond paused and turned to face her again; his large hands moved to cradle her jaw, holding her gaze, and her skin rippled with gooseflesh from the contrast of his gentle touch and the roughness of his palms. 

“This will only go as far as you wish it too,” his voice was low, his words tinged with a fear that she would simply change her mind and leave. 

But instead hope bloomed with the flutter of her lashes, her lips curling into a smile as she stepped closer to capture his lips. Her hands knotted into the loose fabric of his tunic and she pulled him closer still, smiling. Aemond thrummed from the taste of passion, tilting her head to savor the kiss. 

The silk she had been wearing was now a puddle at her feet, and Aemond discarded his tunic, his hands pausing at the waistband of his pants. He looked at Rhaena, watching her carefully, the black now swallowing the blues and the purples of his one intensive eye, an amber gleam flickering in the sapphire of his other. 

Her smile remained as she took a step back, resting on the edge of the bed. She did not look away from him as his eye trailed over her soft curves, admiring the golden glow of the fire on her brown skin, how it rose with the night air, her nipples pebbling in response. 

Beautiful, he does not say but instead swallowed to wet his throat. “That bastard does not deserve you,” his rasped confession wrenched from his lungs. 

Only then did she look at her hands resting on her plush thighs, and offered a soft hum in return. The boldness that had brought her to his room continued her motion, her hands reaching to grab the waistband of his slacks, her fingers precariously placed above the heady bulge that pressed against the crotch. 

He felt his blood roaring to stain his cheeks as her eyes washed over his bare body, trailing the silver scars now displayed, the lines that cut into his trim waist before she met with his gaze again. Aemond allowed himself a step closer, a heavy sway, moving between her parted thighs until he was close enough for her to softly touch his unmarred side, until he could feel her breathless whisper hot against his skin– 

“Then claim me.”  

And he burned with how each syllable dripped with the honey that spilled from her kiss-swollen lips. “Aōhon ynot sahās,” she said, her eyes locking onto him. 

Make me yours.

His hand covered her own, turning his head until his lips feathered the pulse of her wrist. “Ñuhon,” he growled against her skin, mine, and then he pushed forward until she melted into the mattress, lifting her legs and welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. 

His mouth was hot, ravenous, only allowing her a moment to breathe when he moved his attention to the curve of her jaw and to her neck. His teeth nipped at her skin, leaving dark plumes of color in his wake. 

He could feel her trembling beneath him, her head falling back with a gasp. “Aemond!” 

It was his siren song, those sweet sounds from the terrace. They remained with his steps that brought him back to his room, echoing in his mind until it curdled the marrow of his bones, a dull ache that knotted his lower organs. He wished to draw those same sounds but with his tongue; his hands pressed to open her thighs further, and he sank between them to place an intimate kiss that made her shudder in response. 

She was slick, a taste divine, and his tongue trailed between her folds until he felt her hands knotting in his hair. He feasted between her thighs with a hold that dimpled the softness of her skin, anchoring himself to her core. Aemond pulled her towards a new plateau of pleasure with his mouth, his tongue laving until she tried to writhe away. 

Her back arched with the expanse of her chest begging for air, her hands moving for fistfuls of bed linen to ground herself. Her lips parted with a wordless cry as his dexterous fingers curled within her. “Aemond,” she panted, panicked, but he touched her with familiarity, feeling how her every fiber sang for him: heart thrumming, muscles tensing, desperate for more. 

Aemond hummed against her cunt and the low vibration caused a soft cry, a pulse of her velvet walls around his fingers. “Sȳz riña,” he murmured, adding another finger that met with the tandem of his first. His tongue returned to carve through her sweet lips with an unrelenting pace that pulled her towards her peak. 

It shuddered throughout her, a sob spilling that Aemond moved to muffle with a kiss, his praises soothing against her lips: “Sȳz riña, sȳz riña.” He melted into her warmth, her body pliant and molded against him. His arms caged her to the bed and his cock twitched, the heat from her bare cunt calling and pulling him closer.

Rhaena squirmed beneath him, and he tried to lift his weight but her nails bit into his waist, stopping him. “Aemond,” she was breathless, almost begging. “Please, I–” but she faltered to find her words. He could feel her pulse still fluttering against his chest, and she swallowed thickly. 

“Aōhon ynot sahās,” she repeated, a desperation now touching her tone.

Aemond felt his heart seize in his chest, and he tilted his head for a gentle kiss. “We will begin slowly,” his voice rasped with his reserve, “I promise.” 

She nodded and he was careful to slot his slender hips between her thighs, his swollen cock heavy and pressing against one side. She sighed, and he looked to see her drunken smile splayed on her lips as he nestled against her. His arm weaved between to guide himself, and she tensed from the unfamiliar pressure, his swollen head sliding through her folds and lining with her entrance. 

A muscle ticked in his jaw with his concentration, his slow thrusts sinking into her warmth with a shuddering halt when his hips met with hers. Aemond then stilled, watchful, worried, seeing how her face was clouded. He moved to kiss her, his body shifting against hers, and she let out a small noise that he swallowed. 

“Rhaena…”

Her eyes fixated on him, and he felt the fire in her veins pressing towards the surface. Her head nodded yes, a whispered, “Kostilus,” please, and only then did his hips begin to move. Her tension began to fall away with his slow rut, his rhythm continuing. She mewled softly, canting her hips to meet the snap of his own, sparking something different, something deeper, and he felt her tighten around him.

Aemond hummed, and his pace quickened with the lewd sound of skin-to-skin. The heat curling in his core began to spread under his skin, a bowstring taut to nearly snap at the sound of her breathless cries, the pulsing of her velvet walls that pulled him after. 

He groaned, his hip stuttering, and his brow pressed to her own. He felt her legs wrapping around his waist and  looked at her. Rhaena combed her fingers through the silver hair that spilled from his braid, pulling him close for a kiss. 

“Stay with me,” his voice was low, blooms of red staining his cheeks. “Kostilus,” he added.

Please.

Rhaena kissed him with the promise to stay and only then did he pull away. He pulled on his slacks again, unbuttoned, and moved towards the wash basin to grab a clean cloth. Aemond turned on his heel and saw her, bashfulness now replacing her boldness from before, wrapped in the sheets. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and filled with something he now understood.

Desire, thrumming with the ichor of Old Valyria that ran rampant in their veins. 

He moved towards her and a smile curled on her lips, her eyes falling to the sway of his hips and the silver patch that peered lewdly above the waist of his trousers. His hand reached to pull the sheet away while his other began to carefully wipe away his pearly spend. 

She sighed, different than before, now with contentment and a consideration as her thighs fell open to welcome him again. He burned under her sense of awe as she watched his hands move over her skin; Aemond murmured his questions and she promised she felt fine, catching his wrist and bringing it to meet her lips for a kiss. 

He pulled away a second time–the last time he swore–discarding the soiled cloth and pulling through his drawers to retrieve a silk scarf that had been gifted from across the narrow sea. He watched her hands move to wrap her hair and he shyly offered to knot it at the nape of her neck, pressing a chaste kiss there when he finished. 

With their earlier tension spent and staining the sheets, their exchange was now natural, a tethered bond that seemed to be planted on that fateful night of Driftmark. Aemond climbed beneath the covers and his hands could not leave her, pulling her until her back was flushed to his chest, fitting like a missing piece. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close enough to feel the thrum of his heart. 

Her voice was soft, breaking the quiet that had settled over them. “What will happen now?” 

His hum reverberated through them and he pulled her closer until his lips could touch her shoulder once, twice, following the curve and pressing against the soft spot under her ear, pressing contemplative kisses before he said: “Tomorrow I will petition the king for your hand in marriage.” 

Rhaena shifted in his arms. “What if he says no?” 

He nuzzled into her neck, smiling against her skin. “Vhagar remembers you,” he began, his breath tickling; she bloomed with his words. “If they say no, I will take you to Driftmark and we will have a ceremony anyway, just as our ancestors did.”

“But what–”

“But nothing,” his tone cut through, a gentle resolve, and he pressed another kiss to the nape of her neck. Rhaena relaxed against him. “Iksā ñuhon.”

You are mine.

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond @qyburnsghost @niocel

arcie's hotd masterlist

[decarath-s]

Listen ofc all of the Unreal Unearth songs are amazing because it's Hozier we're talking about but holy fuck-

Personally the song in this album that smacked me across the face at first was Abstract (Psychopomp), and I can't believe more people are not going feral over it like I am, look-

H U H

I saw you perform this ultimately fruitless yet incredibly significant, humane and selfless act of kindness. You put your own life at risk for something others would have considered "too small". I saw you run into moving traffic, stain your own hands, just to offer a little comfort to this poor animal in its dying moments. I was terrified, I knew I had no choice but to love you.

[harryzroze]

have this panel o lil gay monkeys because i still like parts of it

(sharing the lyric comic that’s part of this soon)

zoom ins for potential better quality below

[starry-eyed-adam]

what I don’t really like about people calling hozier a bog man or a mythical spirit or anything ethereal and inhuman is that it’s exactly the opposite of what his music conveys. Hozier’s songs embody the rawest human experiences, from love to lust to religion to loss. and to say that a man who experiences these things isn’t a man simply because his lyrics are ’too beautiful’ or anything along those lines takes away a lot of what humanity is

Hozier is incredibly talented and he makes absolutely enchanting music. but he’s still just a human, singing about the beauty and the pain of being just a human.

also I’m pretty sure he’s bothered by it too because it has something to do with disrespecting Irish culture? can’t totally remember

[occasionally-normal-things-here]

scrolling through the hozier tag again and I can’t help but notice almost every post saying something along the lines of “that’s our forest god” which is fair but also

this might be a hot take but I think the beauty of Andrew’s music is that he can write such incredible songs that perfectly capture love and the human condition because he has experienced it?? And that’s why he can write such heart wrenching music? Idk this is random but I’m just saying my man gets it because he’s been through it.

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

Do you ever just…“HONEY YOU’RE FAMILIAR LIKE MY MIRROR YEARS AGO, IDEALISM SITS IN PRISON CHIVALRY FELL ON ITS SWORD, INNOCENCE DIED SCREAMING ‘HONEY ASK ME I SHOULD KNOW’ I SLITHERED HERE FROM EDEN JUST TO SIT OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR

[c-kiddo]

kind of love just rooting around in the taylor swift tag especially now that theres a new album coming out. like im most likely not even going to listen to it (maybe 1 song to see whats happening but even thats 50/50), i just like reading the weird drama and theories and pretending to be very easily satisfied with something so middling. a strange sense of brain-emptied peace and serenity floods over me. i love mundane things

[fawnforevergone]

Dante's Inferno References in Hozier's song "First Time" (+ a lil' song explanation) !!

Guys, I know I did the whole "Dante's Inferno references in 'Unreal Unearth'" already but I have thought of more things particularly with "First Time" and it's context of being in circle one, 'Limbo'.

Firstly, important context that 'Limbo' isn't so much a punishment as it is a placeholder in Inferno. It's for the unbaptized and virtuous pagans, essentially those who did not believe in God and therefore could not enter heaven, but also didn't do anything bad enough to be punished in the other eight circles. The punishment is to live eternally in circle one whilst feeling an infinite sensation of emptiness that is meant to represent the lack of God in their lives.

Now, moving onto the song and the GENIUS that it is.

"And the soul, if that's what you'd call it, uneasy ally of the body, felt as nameless as a river, undiscovered underground." The lost souls of Inferno find their way to their assigned circle by using the 'transportation system' of the five rivers of the Underworld. The first river that Dante and Virgil encounter is the river Acheron that Charon, the Greek psychopomp that transported souls through the underworld, delivers them down to arrive at Limbo.

Another one of the five rivers of the Underworld is the well-known river Styx that souls had to cross over in order to enter the afterlife. All of these things are referenced in this one lyric.

"And the first time that you kissed me I drank dry the river Lethe." Here, Hozier mentions another one of the five rivers. Those who drank from the Lethe would experience mental oblivion, unable to remember anything. Souls who were to be reincarnated usually drank from this river in order to forget their past lives. Hozier is also referencing the idea of being reborn, as he does throughout this whole song, but instead he's reborn by the relationship he has with his partner.

"As it was, and ever shall be, unearth without a name." This lyric seems to be a reference to the 'Glory Be' prayer - "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end." As aforementioned, Limbo's punishment is a never-ending emptiness; It's described as sorrow without torment, something so deprived that rational minds couldn't comprehend it. Hozier's "unearth without a name" mirrors the prayer's "world without end", showing that Limbo has the same infinity that God intends the world to have, but Hozier cannot even put a name to the feeling of Limbo, only that it is underground.

"Some part of me must have died/Some part of me came alive the first time that you called me 'Baby'." This lyric repeats throughout the whole song with minor changes, and references back to that idea of being reborn that Hozier establishes from the very start of the album with "De selby (Part 1)". The album compares Hozier's relationship with his partner to the journey of 'Inferno', and here we see Hozier effectively 'dying' as the relationship begins, allowing him to enter Limbo reborn as who his lover made him.

"These days I think I owe my life to flowers that were left here by my mother. Ain't that like them, gifting life to you again?" Since we have the context that Hozier is now 'dead', this lyric can be seen as his mother leaving flowers on his grave, literally gifting his body life. In the following lyrics, Hozier compares his life in Limbo to the life of the flowers gifted to him.

"This life life lived mostly underground, unknowin' either sight nor sound, 'til reaching up for sunlight just to be ripped out by the stem." Flowers are birthed beneath the soil on Earth, as Hozier has been reborn beneath the world in Hell, both lives lived underground. The theme of darkness that is regularly visited in both 'Inferno' and the album is shown here "unknowin'...sight", where the darkness of Inferno simulates a sort of blindness. The second half of the lyric references that loss of hope in Limbo, mirroring it to the idea of a flower being torn away from its only purpose of growing - similarly to how a soul is torn from its only purpose of living.

"Sensing only now it's dyin', drying out then drowning blindly, bloomin' forth its every colours in the moments it has left." The literal meaning of this lyric is the act of pulling flowers from their roots to simply put them in vases of water. The metaphorical meaning is Hozier attempting to hold up hope in Limbo. "Unreal Unearth" is very clearly a breakup album, and "First Time" tells us the compressed story of the relationship from beginning to end. We can take this song as Hozier beginning to lose faith in his relationship but desperately holding on, the way flowers know they're dying in a vase but continue blooming nevertheless.

"To share the space with simple living things, infinitely suffering, but fighting off, like all creation, the absence of itself. Anyway." Again, this references the ideas of flowers dying in a vase whilst trying to live cut off from their roots. The idea of "infinitely suffering" gives us that imagery of Limbo, but "fighting off...the absence of itself" also emphasises Hozier's attempts to rekindle this relationship the way flowers ignore the prospect of death in the hopes of living for a few moments longer. This little "anyway" at the end gives us the impression that, like Limbo, this is hopeless, and, as the flowers will, Hozier's relationship will die.

"When I was young I used to guess, 'Are there limits to any emptiness'?" The whole third verse shows us the final breaking of the relationship, but this lyric shows us that specific hopelessness that is felt in the decay of love. It really wraps up the idea of Limbo in this relationship; this soft acceptance that their love has died no matter how hollow it makes Hozier feel.

I personally think he is once again a MASTERMIND. Relating the death of a relationship to the wilting of flowers, especially flowers forced to stay alive, is perfect, like are you kidding me. Anyway, yes! That's my extra fathoming of "First Time" because there is simply too much to say.

If anyone else has anything to say, please lmk because there's nothing more I love than a Hozier deep dive :]