An Ode to Nuada is a song by Sisters Erie, written and sung by Mary Flynn and arranged by the four sisters. It is the third track on The Coming Storm, the band's debut EP, released in spring 2012.1 2
The song considers the person beneath a legendary king. Its concern is what loss and restoration can change, and what remains when a hand, a crown, and an earlier understanding of oneself have all been taken away.1
The man beneath the legend
The opening places Nuada in a life measured by the sword in his hand. The loss of that hand changes more than his ability to hold a weapon. A silver replacement preserves its shape; a later restoration returns flesh and bone. The crown comes back as well.1
The lyric pauses at the difference between those recoveries and recovering the same man. Its repeated images of hand, sword, scar, and chair gradually separate a person's identity from the things that appear to establish it.1
Mary's interest lies in that distinction. What makes a person whole cannot simply be removed with an injury or supplied with a replacement. The song returns to survival after successive losses, then allows the king to open his hand and stand.1
An arrangement that became quieter
As the sisters arranged the song, it grew progressively quieter. Giving its central declarations a more dramatic setting made them less effective. The final approach leaves them space.1
Mary's warm, dark-leaning voice suits the intimacy of that treatment. Her musical role within the band includes reflective leads as well as harmony, and An Ode to Nuada gives that part of her musicianship the foreground.1 3
The restraint also gives the song a distinct position on the EP. It follows Gael's expansive lead on The Queen of Argyll and precedes The Castles of Ireland, whose sincere opening eventually falls into a very different sort of family performance. Mary and Ryanne lead those two originals in turn.2
Lyrics
Once you knew no measure
but the sword in your hand.
No count of days.
No thought of ending.
No name for what could be taken.
They brought you silver.
Bright as moon on water.
Cold where blood had been.
All called it wonder.
You said nothing.
Silver remembers the shape of the hand.
The hand remembers the sword.
The scar—
remembers more.
Flesh answered flesh.
Bone answered bone.
The wound closed.
The crown came back.
So did the hand.
Not the man.
You had lost the hand—
and lived.
Lost the crown—
and lived.
Lost the man you thought you were—
and lived.
A throne is only a chair.
A sword is only iron.
A hand is only flesh.
Then came the younger man.
You looked at him.
You looked at the chair.
You opened your hand.
You stood.
Nothing taken could unmake you.
Nothing given made you whole.
Silver remembers the shape of the hand.
The hand remembers the sword.
The king remembers the man.
No hand holds forever.
No king keeps the day.
Morning comes.