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Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Morning on the marsh
Bootprints in the peat
Your name in the reeds
Quiet at my feet
I carry the salt
Under every sigh
Like a stone in my palm
Like a gull in the sky
[Pre-Chorus]
And it comes, and it goes
Like tide on the stones
I feel you in the fields
I hear you in my bones
[Chorus]
Pull me through, bog tide
Pull me through, bog tide
Over the dark water
Over the old pride
Pull me through, bog tide
Pull me through, bog tide
I was made for this turning
Made for the ride
[Verse 2]
Fields turn silver-green
Hedges lean and bend
The rain knows my face
Like an old friend
Underneath the hill
Something low and wide
Turns slow in the earth
Like a deep inside
[Pre-Chorus]
And it comes, and it goes
Like tide on the stones
I feel you in the fields
I hear you in my bones
[Chorus]
Pull me through, bog tide
Pull me through, bog tide
Over the dark water
Over the old pride
Pull me through, bog tide
Pull me through, bog tide
I was made for this turning
Made for the ride
[Bridge]
There’s a fire under rock
There’s a wave under moon
There’s a long, low hum
In the bone-white noon
I won’t fight the pull
I won’t name the sea
What is in the ground
Is already in me
[Chorus]
Pull me through, bog tide
Pull me through, bog tide
Over the dark water
Over the old pride
Pull me through, bog tide
Pull me through, bog tide
I was made for this turning
Made for the ride
Details
GeneratedMay 22, 2026
Duration4:09
LanguageEnglish
Style
Irish folk ballad with a slow swaying pulse and open-air acoustic arrangement; verse rides fingerpicked guitar, low bodhrán taps, and warm drones; pre-chorus lifts with a second fiddle line and held harmony; chorus opens into clear alto lead with stacked thirds and soft group responses. Breath-like phrasing, wind chimes, distant surf, earthy low end, wide and natural mix, female vocals, female vocals, breathy, deep, gentle, soft, natural
Credits
Prompt by
Brigids_Hearth
Brigids_HearthModelAria v5.5
Prompt
Irish song, soft like gentle breathing, but not breathy. Alto female Vocals clear, not wispy or close mic’d. A natural, almost inevitable sound like wind, waves, or deep rumbling like volcano groans
