We’ll go through the song line by line. No rhyme or reason, just however the words spit themselves out onto the page (or screen).

Overview~

This song has a lot to it— almost every lyric has endless possibilities for interpretation. I hadn’t heard this song until I listened to the entirety of Preacher’s Daughter. When I did, it wasn’t necessarily a song that stood out to me. I was able to hear the song from a more lyrical point of view this time, which helped me understand it better.

Lyrics~

The aching sound of silence— definitely my favorite song. I love not having any sounds and just being accompanied by my thoughts and inner monologue. When the power goes out, I love just laying in my bed, surrounded by deep, never-ending darkness. There’s no noise at all, and I can hear the absolute silence. Like, really noticing how much sound is really happening at the same time, all the time.

I’m not totally sure how I feel about this line. I can relate it to my dad, but only partially. We were never close enough to be “just us” or for him to by “my whole world.” I would always be excited when he came home. He would always smell like the cherry Chapstick he carried in his suit pocket. Some days a week, he would bring my sister and I a banana or apple from the office. I remember simple things like that, but never having an actual relationship with him. Though, I have always longed to have that father/daughter relationship in shows like Sydney to the Max or Liv and Maddie. In Elementary school, they would host a daddy/daughter dance in the gym every year. All my friends would talk about going, how excited they were to get all dolled up. And I would ask my dad, but it was just a waste of time— he was too busy. It’s a trivial, meaningless event. I never went. So, I’m not totally sure how I specifically related to this line, but this is what comes to mind when I think about it.

This reminds me of one specific day in my life. I was nine, maybe ten. I was on a road trip and stopped at my family’s house in Virginia. All my siblings had gone to sleep, and my mom was staying up to read. She allowed me to stay up past my bedtime to read with her. Around 11, she got a call from my dad, who was back at home. Assuming he was calling to say goodnight, she answered. He said “Somethings wrong with my dad.”

I sat there, not thinking much of it at the time. Neither of them gave any more details. I remember sitting on the couch, practically in the dark— physically and metaphorically. As time passed, I began to worry more. My mom told me, “No news is good news.” My mom passed phone calls and messages back and forth between my dad, and my grandfather’s wife. For a while, there was nothing. Until she called my mom. All that she said was, “It’s over.” She asked my mom to be the one to tell my dad. I remember hearing him sobbing on the phone. I’d never seen him cry before. As I went to sleep, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had just seen him, not even a month ago for his birthday. In the car ride home, I remember listening to music and all of it reminded me of him and what happened. Specifically, I remember listening to Blank Space by Taylor Swift, thinking “Now there’s a blank space in my life, where he used to stand.”

I think that was actually the worst day of my life. It marked the day everything changed, right around the time I started hating my dad.

I have trouble moving on. From anything. It all stays cooped up inside of me somewhere. I don’t forget anything. But the one thing that I think of with this line is my childhood home. When we had to leave my dad, I didn’t get to say goodbye to the room I had experienced most of my girlhood in. I only live a few minutes away now, and when I drive by I have so many memories— both good and horrific. Some of the worst moments in my life happened in that house, those hallways. Some of my best memories were made in that backyard. My sisters and I would always play fairies in the grass, surrounded by rocks covered in moss. It was shaded with giant trees that seemed to touch the sky. I still want to call that place my home, but I can’t get past the nightmares I lived through in that house. How haunted and vacant it felt, while also bubbling over with blood-curdling screams and thousand-mile-per-hour heartbeats.

I find a lot of meanings in this line. Not really anything in specific, just little memories or times from my life that could be sort-of described by these words. I still like it though, and I can see myself relating to the actual meaning of it in the future.

The symbolism in this part of the song is so meaningful to me. I feel like I’ve spent my whole life creating myself and where I’m meant to go, what path I’m supposed to be on. But I don’t really see anything in front or behind me. It’s a confusing feeling, knowing that there is so much history and fucked up remnants of myself laying behind me, and the same in front. I just can’t really see any of it.

Oh gosh. I’m sure we’ve all said “I’m fine” so many times, when really we weren’t. At all. Those two words were basically all that came out of my mouth for a few months. I was stuck in a cycle of lying to everyone, even myself. I convinced myself so many times that I was completely fine. I really love the way our brains are so susceptible to suggestion. I could probably convince myself of anything. The last part is very meaningful too. I have genuinely wished to just cease to exist if it meant I could be happy, and be with the people I’ve lost.

I know that I have hurt so many people. I hate that so much. It’s the last thing I would ever wish to do, and I would do absolutely anything to go back in time and change that, but I can’t. I loathe the idea of being the reason someone can’t feel at peace.

Back to the late-night thoughts. Every night, I feel like I die a little. Stuck with nothing other than these debilitating thoughts that offer nothing of substance, or the false security and comfort of my phone. The only time I stop thinking is when I’m asleep, but I seem to have trouble sleeping when I need it the most.

A lot of these lines have very similar feelings to me. But this one specifically relates to my old self. I find myself trying to cling on to anything of her I can hold on to. Right now, I think the only thing I have is memories. I don’t feel anything like the little girl I once was. Completely the opposite, in fact.

Back to my first love. Goodness, gracious. I could tell her anything. I usually did. It was refreshing to be able to actually speak. Even though she was a horrible person, I miss what we had. I miss what we shared, and the connection that we had.

I feel this exact way when looking at my childhood pictures. I know I wasn’t necessarily happy then, but I know I was much better of then than I am now. I wish I could go back to that— a clean slate, a blank sheet of paper. I don’t like the person I’ve become. I mean, I’m glad of how far I’ve come, but there’s so much I would change. And the dire need to go back to my innocence squeezes my lungs too tight all the time.

Sympathy. Empathy. All the pathy’s. I feel so much for everyone. The most horrible people who deserve no ounce of kindness, the random strangers on the street or Internet. I sort of love that about me, but there’s times when I hate it. Especially when it’s for people who have inflicted so much harm and pain upon undeserving people.

The feeling of loneliness. I don’t like being lonely, I like being alone. I see a huge difference between the two. There have been certain people in my life that I have felt lonely without, though. That’s not who I’m supposed to be. I am independent, the so-called black sheep. I don’t want to cling to someone just for the sake of company. It bothers me to be stuck with anything. I’m not scared of commitment, that’s the wrong word, but it’s something adjacent.

Conclusion~

I found A House in Nebraska much harder to analyze than any of the other songs I’ve done so far. It’s complex, offering multiple different variations of each line. I didn’t really find so much connection with the track as I did confusion. I lost my train of though multiple times while writing this, probably making it confusing for anyone else reading it too. Oh well.

I haven’t really gone back and edited any of the posts in this series. I’ve just typed them out, hoped for the best, and hit post. So, if you want to see more impromptu, spontaneous posts in similar nature to this one, subscribe to diary of the eldest daughter. If you listened to A House In Nebraska while reading this, let me know what you thought. Thank you so much, if you read this far. It means ever so much.

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We’ll go through the song line by line. No rhyme or reason, just however the words spit themselves out onto the page (or screen).

Overview~

This song is much different from any of the others in Preacher’s Daughter because it has a much happier, less sinister and haunting feel to it. It’s one of those songs with a lively beat, but becomes more depressing the more you actually listen to it. I had originally liked it because of the beat, listening to it in the mornings. But then when I went down the rabbit hole of the album, I changed my mind.

Lyrics~

I am very grateful for my childhood, in the sense that I was not a so-called iPad kid. I had very limited screen time, I went to a (basically) Montessori preschool. I got to dissect owl pellets and made art every day. The “yellow light on the street” is sunlight, in my mind. I am eternally grateful for the period I grew up in— without as much technology, when people valued human interaction and connection. This is the part about false promises from Christianity. I’ve already established my views on religion as a whole, but also on Christianity specifically. I do not think it’s real, and I view it as a coping mechanism humans use as a way to find meaning in life. Yet, I still find myself praying to someone when I need comfort. As I’ve said before, I am a hypocrite.

I haven’t ever really considered this lyric as significant until right now. So I’m not really sure if my thoughts on it are authentic, or just an effort to add personal meaning to them. Basically, the conclusion I’ve come to is the pressure to do something productive with your life. I’ve always feared going off to college and the need to pick just one thing to do with the rest of my life. Essentially, I am frightened of being placed in a box that is too small to fit. But at the same time, I am so excited to build a career and go anywhere but here. (Again, hypocrite) I say that I don’t want to be confined to just one title, one degree, one career, but ultimately, I know as soon as I get the chance to do just that, I will jump at it.

I see this one as a number of things. Primarily my thoughts. I can shut them out during the day, leaving them in bed. I set myself up for failure though, because then every night I rejoin them. Rekindle the flame of everything I’ve ever felt. They’re inescapable. But I also see it as things I’ve forgotten about. The people I’ve lost. I realized that I really only ever think about them when I have to. And when I’m trying to go to sleep. The guilt of forgetting details, or memories eats away at my flesh. So I spend the time when I’m supposed to be sleeping ruminating on these things. I’m not alone with my thoughts, because my internal monologue is always there. She never shuts her mouth, mostly when I need her to. And it’s radio silence when I need to have a coherent thought.

Just bury me under the Earth now. I cannot even find a proper place to begin with this lyric. I often overlook it, trying to focus on the lightheartedness of the rest of the track. But this one line always comes back to me. I have been put in the middle of my parents far too many times. Used as a weapon for custody and finances and personal opinions. On the frontlines. I’ve even put myself there a number of times— sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. In my childhood home, your point would only ever get across if you were the loudest. In volume and tone, and how hard you could slam doors and hit someone.

Jesus, I hate thinking about how I contributed to that. For the most part, I was quiet. I learned how to stay silent and be as little of a bother as possible. But when I overflowed, boy did I spew. I screamed as loud as possible. I said as much as I could before running off. I never voiced my opinions, I kept them in my head, I put them down on papers that I knew wouldn’t ever be found. I would hide them behind my bed and under my pillows. My dad had a tendency to go through everything, and I knew I would get hurt if he found them, or heard them for that matter. Eventually, once I had held onto them a little to long, I had no choice but to scream it out. Not even into a pillow. In his face, standing in front of this man who was so much larger than me. And hell, was I scared. I honestly could have peed myself. Especially when I was done. The consequences didn’t matter in that moment though. It felt good to pay back even a bit of the words that stabbed into me.

In a house that was constantly at war, I only learned defenses and how to fight back. Never acceptance or apology or peace. It was only ever fiery bullets shooting across rooms, between floors. Over time, I learned how to aim. I could get a bullseye every. single. time. It’s not necessarily something to be proud of, but looking back on the nimble, scared girl I was, I am so proud of myself. There are very few instances where I find myself feeling this way. So I let this one stay. I do appreciate my rare ability to stand for myself, ten toes down.

I also love this line for a few reasons. There was a period in my life where I did not consider the consequences to any of my actions. I lived by YOLO. I still stuck to doing it under covers, but I still did it.

But when I look at it a different way, it sits on my mind in a much more impactful way. I would spend many of my nights with tears rolling down my cheeks. I would shower so when I got out and my eyes were red, I could say I had just gotten soap in them. I loved hiding it, I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because it was only mine. A rare secret that wouldn’t really destroy much.

Then, the “just give it one more day then you’re done” line. I lived by that so many days. I would tell myself, one more day then it’s over. Then I would say the same thing the next. It’s what kept me going. I didn’t even get it from this song, but hearing it now, that’s all I think about.

Starting off with “I don’t need anything from anyone.” This one is honestly, the one sentence I would use to describe myself. I don’t ask for help, I do everything I can by myself. I do not want to be a burden. Yet I always find myself in situations where I am the burden. I spent most of my childhood alone. Yes, I had my siblings, but I hated them, which was unfair. I was brought up with adults, always sitting at the adult table at parties, being told I would “make a good lawyer,” and that I was “mature for my age.” But I would still be shooed away during conversations that my “young, naive ears” were too fragile to hear. There was a time that my grandma came to watch us, and my little brother asked me to get him raspberries. She started to get up to grab them for him, but he insisted it had to be me. When I came back, he said that I was like “his second mom.”

There was also a two-week period where I wasn’t allowed to see my mom. I would say this was my villain origin story, but really it’s been my entire life. My dad showed his lack of parental skills— locking himself in his room all day, watching some stupid cartoon and pretending to be working. When we would ask him for food, he would get annoyed. He ordered pizza twice in two weeks. And that was the only help we got from him. I cooked meals for my siblings, I did laundry, I cleaned up as much as I could. At ten years old, two weeks before school started up again, I was parenting my three siblings. Alone. When I should have been getting excited for a new year, new classes and teachers, I was doing household chores an adult should have been doing. And the worst part, in my opinion? When I testified this in court, it wasn’t seen as a problem. I was praised for my responsibility and resourcefulness.

Have any years really been my year? No, but I’ve made it through all of them. Thus far, none of the bad stuff has killed me. So maybe it has been my year before. Who defines what “your year” is anyway? Still, I spend every New Years Eve making vision boards that depict the perfect year. My birthday is in September, it’s a big one. I hate my birthday, but I’ve been looking forward to this one. I’ve been hoping it will be my year. For real this time. I know it probably won’t be. I’ll do something to screw it up, but I like the prospect of it.

I’ve associated this line with all of the times I’ve been visibly sick and hurting in front of people. All of the times people noticed that something was wrong, but all they offered was a lousy, “are you okay?” I resent a lot of people for that. I wonder how much different my life might’ve been thus far, had someone intervened.

I love this line, because my family is prone to addiction. So I am deathly afraid of being addicted to anything. But the truth is, I probably already am. I always revert back to the same horrible coping mechanisms. I practically can’t function or have a will to live if I’m not medicated. All my time in therapy has taught me nothing and everything. God, I have wasted so much of my life in various forms of therapy. And I find it all useless. It’s the stupidest thing. I feel like a waste of resources. I mean, I’ve gotten an inexplicable amount of help from it, but I only use it when it’s convenient.

Again, with the independence thing. I don’t want to be dependent on anything. I do not want to be bound to any sort of thing, whether that’s marriage, responsibilities, or a timeline. I absolutely hate it. I love being on my own, just not lonely. That’s something that means a lot to me. I do not like being told what to do, though I still do it. I like that last line, I see it as “Jesus, let me be myself, by myself.”

Reoccurrence of religion. Oh, how I hate it. Why are we taught to worship someone who brings such turmoil and struggle into our lives? And why are we told not to question it because “God works in mysterious ways.” It makes no sense. Despite my tendency to pray when I’m desperate, I have never felt any sort of relief or comfort in it. People always say Jesus is always with you, he’s in you, but I have never felt that before. It’s always, “Jesus loves everyone,” until your gay, not Christian, or not white.

I do not do anything for my father, other than long for him to go back to being the man I remember when I was little and sympathize for him. And I hate it. Hate it. I hate how much I wish well for him, when he’s done anything but that. I want to do things for me, to take a chance to be selfish. I can’t think of a time where I prioritized myself over someone else’s superficial or materialistic wishes. I mean, there are probably examples. I know I can be selfish. I do know that. But I just want to be able to do what I want, for me. I long to live like this line.

Conclusion~

Alright, this one was much easier to write than Family Tree (Intro). I love this song, but this is really the first time I’ve actually thought about it. Subconsciously, I always have, but never in this way. I enjoyed taking the time to analyze myself and my connection with the lyrics. I’m sure there is a lot of really confusing sentences in here. All that’s important to me is the time I’m taking to write it. Hey, maybe this is me being selfish.

If you’ve read this, let me know what you think! If you listened to the song, tell me everything you thought about it. And if you want to read the rest of the series, please subscribe! This is the third part of at least twelve. It might end up being much, much longer though. Love you guys <3

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We’ll go through the song line by line. No rhyme or reason, just however the words spit themselves out onto the page (or screen).

Overview~

Family Tree (Intro) is one of the songs I listened to first on Preacher’s Daughter. I considered it as an option for my dance solo, that I ultimately ended up not doing. The imagery and the words in the song sit tightly between me and my life. There are specific parts of the song that hurt me just enough to make me love them, and some parts that make me want to rip my tongue out. So, without further ado, I introduce the first song of this series. Sit back, relax, and do not make any guesses where this may be going.

The lyrics~

The opening line, spoken by a voice meant to be Ethel Cain’s father— the preacher. I love this line because it sets a preface for how valued family is in this fictional family, especially when playing into the other songs on the album. And I do agree. My mother is one of the most special things in my life. I love her more than words can speak, but as every teenage girl does, I resent her a bit too.

The touch on the Lord Jesus Christ is what makes this line important to me. I’ve been taught my whole life to fear God, never speak His name in vain, and always worship at his feet. And I never have. My extended family is fully Christian, it’s the principle of our family. It feels nasty on my tongue to say our family in regards to that, because I am not. Definitely not.

I wouldn’t say I have religious trauma. I think that’s stretching it. I haven’t ever been forced into church every week, or forced to pray every night and day. But the pressure has always been there— Accept God or you are not a good person.
That’s become clear to me more over the years. Even more so this past year.

On the last day of Pride Month ‘24, I came out to my mother. She isn’t homophobic, she accepts people as they are for the most part. But she is so unwilling to learn, it pains me. She asks offensive questions, says offensive things, and gets mad when I say something about it. When we told my grandma about it a few weeks later, I was so scared. She is the most Christian woman I know. She was cleaning her kitchen table, she was in a good mood. As soon as my mom said it, she curtly nodded her head and pushed the sponge harder into the table. I imagined she was scrubbing the sinful thoughts from my mind.
That is dramatic. She doesn’t say homophobic things, but she believes that it’s wrong, and comes from sexual abuse. But I feel her apathy towards it so deeply in my bones.

Physically, my mother is always here. I spend hours in her bedroom, sitting with her and talking about meaningless things. I spend most of my social time with her. Over the winter, she kept forcing me to leave the house, telling me that she can’t be my only source of social outlet. But metaphorically? Never. She tells me she is, but my past has never been able to accept that. So I don’t. We both ignore it for the most part, but it hurts both of us. I hate that I cause her pain, but I also hate how she causes me pain. It isn’t even her fault, it’s mine. I can’t compartmentalize with this. How horrible is that? The woman who I see as the most beautiful human I’ve ever laid my eyes on—the one I look up to in so many aspects of life— is seen as a source of evil and a manipulator in my mind. I hate myself for it.

Oh goodness. The first time I heard this line, I started to bawl. I listened to this song for the first time a little after I relapsed in self-harm. As I listened to it a few months later, and even now, it pains me to think about it. It’s meant to mean religious crosses— a crucifix — but to me it represents the scars I have that will forever remind me of where I found myself at fifteen.

I have a long history of hiding things, specifically my feelings. I never speak about them, as I’ve grown up in an environment where vulnerability and anything but stone-cold faces will earn you some sort of cruel punishment. The first time I was ever truly and fully open about my feelings was with the first girl I loved. I couldn’t hide anything from her, it would all just spill out eventually. With my therapists and psychiatrists I had always kept things hidden. I was too embarrassed or ashamed of my thoughts to let them slip from between my lips.

I found this line to represent that in myself, specifically with her. Trying to hide the skeletons in my closet did not work with her. And since our breakup, I have rarely been able to stop craving that trust. One that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to accomplish again.

One of my most favorite Ethel Cain lines. My father is no longer a part of my life, in any way, shape, or form. I do not allow it, and I spend everyday hoping for eighteen to inch closer so I can change my last name. I feel guilty about that. I share it with my aunt, who has helped me in so many ways I never would’ve expected. I share it with my grandfather, who truly was a kind man— despite his racism and casual cruelty, it was never shown to me, besides very recently. I share it with my grandmother, the one who was stolen from my life when we needed to be brought closer. Something I’ll never forgive my father for. To me, his actions outweigh all of the support from them, and I hate that. But I can’t help but to associate this name with him.

The absolute pain I feel in this one, oh my. I have spent hours and hours wishing to bleed myself dry of the blood I share with him. I wish to be anything but him. To push myself as far away as possible. I’ve written poetry about this, that I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to post. There’s a letter sitting in my desk drawer that I wrote to my father last year. I told him how much I despise him for what he’s done, the irreversible damage he has inflicted upon me. I told him about how as a little girl, I would dream of him walking me down the aisle, but now I will be doing it alone. Because I was the one who’s pulled me out of every hole I’ve ever been in, while he stood at the edge laughing and kicking dirt back into my screaming face.

I was going to give it to him. It was the first I was going to see him in months. It was right around Thanksgiving, just afterwards. I was brewing with fresh hatred, old wounds that had been ripped open for him to pour salt into.

He had gone on a trip to Connecticut for Thanksgiving— with his girlfriend, and all three of my siblings— and I was not comfortable going. I haven’t been comfortable travelling with him for a long time, and he knew that. My aunt, his sister, offered to drive me and let me stay with her, since she was going too. He said no. Not even five minutes after telling me he would do anything to make me feel comfortable enough to go.
He texted all of us, saying he had an incredibly important announcement and it was crucial we were all there. I was refusing to go— the last time he had an “incredibly important” announcement, he had gotten a new job. Normally, I would’ve been happy to celebrate, but it was his own actions that got him fired. I decided to go, to say a final goodbye. I was over it. Sick with rage and debilitated by the thought of living my life in connection to such a person. I had tucked the letter into my purse, I kept my hand on it all night. Clenching my fist, crinkling the paper. We were about to leave, when he said it was time for the announcement.

A baby. They were having a fucking baby. I could’ve screamed in that moment. I wanted to do something. I felt a new wave of pure fury, seething. It seeped through my skin, I bit my tongue so hard, it coated my teeth in the foul taste of blood. And then I looked towards his girlfriend. She was standing in the corner, glowing with excitement. My siblings were bustling around my dad, asking him questions, while she stood there alone. Abandoned by the man she was creating a family with. I walked over to her, hugged her, and said congratulations. She started crying. We hadn’t ever hugged before. I mean, it’s not that we had a close relationship. I’d met her a handful of times, but I was happy for her.
This only increased my hatred for him. He had expressed countless times how much he never wanted another kid. He was perfectly content with four— though he often misspoke, saying he only had three. This baby would fill the missing hole in his heart— a brand spanking new first born daughter. One he could make love him. Give her a better life than his shunned first first daughter.

I went home that night and sobbed. If I hadn’t been clean for a month at that point, I would have done something. I almost did. I wanted to hold something sharp and jab it into my skin. I wanted to rid myself of any resemblance of him. But I couldn’t.

That’s why this song means so much to me. This specific line.

I used to have the biggest obsession with The Fates. In sixth grade, we did a wax museum for Greek Mythology. I practically begged my teacher to do my project on The Fates, but I ended up with Medusa.

The story of The Fates is important in understanding this line. They are destiny personified as three sisters— Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. Clotho, my personal favorite, spins the thread of life. She decides when people are born, essentially controlling their lives. I’m not sure why I loved her so much. I remember being captivated by her name upon first read. Anyways, Lachesis measured Clotho’s thread, determining the destiny of one’s life. She is said to appear next to her sisters three days after birth to determine the length of their life. Atropos cut the thread, deciding the end and way of death of an individual. Their purpose— fate and destiny— are what makes this line meaningful, both to the song and myself.

I’ve always felt a sense of betrayal towards whatever entity is up there, deciding how everything goes. Whether it’s God’s plan, or decided by The Fates. I like to imagine it’s them. I like the idea of three sisters making decisions for everyone, giving the illusion of choice. Maybe there are invisible strings tied to my fingers right now, meticulously tapping each letter to write this. Okay, back to the point. This line resonates with me because of this feeling. Why make good choices when my fate is already lined up? Why waste my life trying to do something when it might not even be what’s meant for me? I get stuck in that feeling very often, paralyzing me and my life with it.

The star of the show right here. The feeling of being tied to my family, trapped and smothering in the inability to be my own person. I don’t mean spiritually, but biologically. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family with everything. I feel the happiest at family reunions, but please— I don’t want to feel responsible for their words and actions. Especially ones I would never, ever, do or say to someone else.
And most especially, my fathers. I am my father’s daughter, very unfortunately. We share similar personality traits. I am so stubborn, and I am very good at manipulating people. I hate saying that, but it’s true. I want to be anything but his daughter. I will repeat this forever, scream it from the edge of a cliff. I do not want to be related to this man. And when I look in the mirror, I see fragments of him that make me want to tear my tongue and my lungs out of my body. God, I hate it.

I hate how my reactions can align with his. Angry, unjustified, and ugly. And when he acts shocked, as if I am not a carbon copy of him. And I can’t control it. And when I do react, he stands there laughing. I mean literally laughing. His smile disgusts me. And it makes me cry. I used to love it, but now it just reminds me of all the times I was struggling and he aggravated and instigated and pushed until I fell off the ledge. In those times, I would pray to God, to just take me away, anywhere but here. I would curse Him for putting me in these positions. They say people find faith in desperation, and I sure do. The amount of oxygen I’ve wasted screaming to Him and my father makes my lungs burn. I’ve emptied them on useless words that will never be heard.

Conclusion~

Wow. Writing this was a cathartic experience. I don’t even remember half of it. I just shot anything and everything out of my finger tips, hitting the keys quite too hard. Every time I think I’m over all of the shit I’ve been through, it resurfaces with an even more powerful kick than the last time. This song is one of the most important on the albums. I can barely explain the emotions it makes me feel, but I am working on it. For now, though, I love how it is. It’s raw, authentic, and exactly how I felt while writing it.

If you listened to the song, let me know what you thought about it! And if you liked reading this, make sure to subscribe because there are at least eleven more parts to the series. Thank you dolls for reading!

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This post will be part of a series. This is part 1, the rest is linked here!

About a year ago, I discovered the artist, Ethel Cain. I started off by listening to a few songs, and immediately added them to my daily playlists. That’s all I really kept it at for a while— listening to a select few because I liked the way they sounded. In September 2024, I saw a TikTok video about her song American Teenager. I realized I’d already had that song in my playlist for at least a year. That piqued my interest even more, leading me to listen to her entire discography.

When I tell you this was a life-changing moment for me, I mean it. I was shocked by the lyricism, the layers, and the literal chills some of the tracks gave me. It became a daily routine of mine— turn on my “Ethel Cain (All Songs)” playlist. Usually, it was accompanied by crying. I was going through one of the worst times in my life.

As I continued to get more into the whole story, who she is, and the entirety of her discography, I fell more in love. Preacher’s Daughter was my favorite album, genuinely ever. I loved all of the songs on there, but I hadn’t ever realized that there was a whole entire story behind it. I started to read different articles and analyses about the concepts and emotions about the album as a whole.

I was relating to it entirely differently that was intended. I think art is subjective, so I understood that, but I also wanted to understand the point of the album. Preacher’s Daughter is based on a fictional character— Ethel Cain— that paints a picture of intense emotions, graphic imagery, and so, so much more. Considering that, the meanings I have found between each lyric doesn’t necessarily align with the intention of them.

A bit about Ethel Cain

Hayden Anhedönia is the artist of Preacher’s Daughter. She uses Ethel Cain as pseudonym currently. She has used various aliases such as ΛTLΛS, White Silas, and Tommy. She grew up in Florida as the oldest of four in a Southern Baptist family. Throughout her life, she has talked a lot about sexuality and identity, first coming out as a gay at twelve, then as a bisexual trans woman later in her life. She has since left the church, and talked about her feelings towards religion. A user on Tumblr sent her a question— “do you still consider yourself a christian?” She responded with this:

“oh very much no. i still abide by the values i was raised on (love your neighbor, treat everyone with respect, by kind and gracious always) but i do not care abt religion lol. it’s embedded in my history and will always be a part of my art but mainly just cause i love horror and drama and what’s more horrifying and dramatic than devoting your life to god.”

Currently, Cain has an album set to be released on August 8th, 2025 titled Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You. It is meant to be a prequel to Preacher’s Daughter, and has two singles out right now. (Nettles and Fuck Me Eyes). Her music career started when she was eight, with classical piano lessons. Under those different names, she released a number of experimental tracks on Tumblr and Soundcloud. She has two EPs, Carpet Bed and Golden Age, along with a number of singles you can listen to here.

She has, very recently, received backlash over a number of (mostly) valid things, to which she responded with this statement. Old posts made in 2017 and 2018 resurfaced on Twitter, showing her using racial slurs, using fatphobic and xenophobic language, and making jokes about rape and incest. There were also accusations that she drew child pornography and is a zoophile— all of which she covered in her statement.

There is much more information to find online, through blogs, news stations, and her personal accounts, but in an effort to keep this short and sweet, I have only covered the basics.

The Original Story

The album, Preacher’s Daughter is based on this fictional character, Ethel Cain. Throughout each track, it covers topics of abuse, cannibalism, murder, violence, and sexual themes including prostitution and grooming. Consider this your trigger warning. I will add more specific ones over each part of this series, as well. The album’s main theme is finding a sense of self outside of the church, the struggles that are tied to that, and the horrific saga of Ethel Cain. She has talked a lot about the process of writing Preacher’s Daughter, and her experiences and timeline of it. Specifically on the themes of cannibalism, she has said

“So, when I was a kid I had this vivid imaginary scenario, like, when you’re a kid and you don’t know what sex is and you have these crushes on people that you can’t explain, there’s this need for physical intimacy that you can’t explain away with sex, so I would always imagine that I wanted to open myself up and pull someone into me and devour them. … I think cannibalism itself is crazy and it’s not anything new, but I think there’s a similarity between cannibalism and not being able to get someone that you love close enough to you so you have to literally devour them, and that’s still not close enough.”

There is a lot to unpack throughout this album that cannot be covered by just an overview of the album itself, so lets go through each song individually.

Family Tree (Intro)

Family Tree (Intro), is the first song on the album. It stars with a deep voice echoing through, presumably a church. This track is based on themes of Christianity and intergenerational trauma, including the inability to escape your blood, in the sense of family. Throughout the song, Cain is subjected to this trauma, setting the stage for the rest of the album.

American Teenager

American Teenager is set in Alabama, a small town meant to depict the intimacy of her familiar settings and relations. The song uses the previously mentioned themes of Christianity to show the deception American teenagers have, as in being promised something nonexistent. This marks the start of “healing,” from her religious trauma that comes with being the preacher’s daughter. It focuses on the glamorization of religion, alcohol, and other healthy coping mechanisms.

A House in Nebraska

This track, is based on a past lover of Cain— Willoughby Tucker. In this house in Nebraska, they planned a life together away from Alabama. While she reminisces in the memories they had shared together, she speaks of the role she played in their separation. She has talked about the inspiration behind this song—

“i don’t know if i’ve ever posted about this before but this is the actual house i wrote house in nebraska about. it’s called the wasden house, it’s by the highway just south of quitman, georgia. a man killed his sister and her husband in 1937 there because they threatened to commit him to an asylum. an old friend of mine used to live down the road, we would drive by it all the time right after high school and i’d daydream about it constantly. i hope it goes up for sale every day.”

Western Nights

The timing is now shifting towards the present, rather than the past. This is where the themes of violence and abuse start to appear. Here, we are introduced to another lover known as Logan Phelps. The lyrics in this song have lots of double meanings, many are risqué in nature. Her relationship with this boy is confusing, and seemingly built on a sense of his potential ability to save her rather than actual love.

Family Tree

This song shows themes of fleeing the scene— Ethel was an accomplice in Logan’s crimes, such as robbery. He was shot, freeing herself from him, also symbolizing her cutting ties with her “family tree.”

Hard Times

As we near the middle of the album, Cain goes on to explain the abuse and pent up feelings for her father. It shows the hypocrisy in religion, Christianity in this case, and the emotional rollercoaster she lived throughout her childhood.

Thoroughfare

Now, we are onto the third lover. Isaiah. They meet in Texas, and begin a journey towards California with the intention of finding their loves. It shows the intimacy between them, the time they spent together, and the fateful feeling of meeting each other.

Gibson Girl

This song involves themes of murder and cannibalism. Gibson Girl includes heavy themes of abuse, drugs, and prostitution. Their relationship takes a turn for the worse, Isaiah begins to act abusively towards Ethel. Throughout the song, he drugs her, and sells her into prostitution. He gaslights her into believing this is her meaning in life, what she wants to do. The earlier themes of cutting ties with her family come back into play with this “act of rebellion.”

Ptolemaea

Themes of religion reemerge in this song, hence the title. Ptolemaea is the ninth circle of hell, treachery. This song is according to Dante’s Inferno. In this ninth circle, he is in a frozen lake. People are trapped in the ice, each representing sinners punished for treachery of different sorts. There are four rings in the ice, each meant to show a different degree of treachery. In order of seriousness of the sin, they are listed as betrayal to family ties, guests, community, and lords. Considering the first part of the album, these are all so-called sins Ethel has committed. The lyrics show Ethel’s devotion to God, craving His blood. Meanwhile, Isaiah craves pleasure— depicted as his murder of Ethel and cannibalism of her body. The drugs she has been forced to take cause her to hallucinate, distorting the sounds and screams throughout the track.

August Underground

This is the first instrumental track of the album, a continuance of the hallucinations and distortion of Ptolemaea. As there are no lyrics in this song, it finalizes Ethel’s death.

Televangelism

Televangelism is another instrumental track, showing Ethel’s ascension to the afterlife. The vast difference in ambience from August Underground, is meant to symbolize the peace of death for Ethel.

Sun Bleached Flies

As we begin to close out the album, Ethel reflects on her life, past lovers, family, and childhood. This song brings back the religious themes, showing Ethel’s continuing crave for God. Lyrics in this song relate back to A House in Nebraska and American Teenager. This song has heavy influence from her longing for Willoughby Tucker, comfort of religion, and the past feelings covered in the beginning of the album.

Strangers

As the album’s final track, Strangers further reflects on her death, specifically in a message to Isaiah. The lyrics suggest her body is laid in a freezer to preserve it for Isaiah’s consumption of her. This song shows double meanings as well— her concern for Isaiah’s wellness after cannibalizing her, and her lack of a grave. There’s also continuance in the theme of being trapped or stuck, even in death. Her struggles with her family are touched on again, specifically with her mother.

Cain has also spoken about how she finished Preacher’s Daughter— by actually moved to Alabama and sleeping on an old iron-frame hospital bed in an old house without any neighbors. She said, “I forced myself to live this very pastoral, almost punishing lifestyle. It almost felt like method acting, but for music.” There is so much more to be dissected in each song, but in an effort to understand the album as a whole and each song individually, I wanted to provide a quick overview.

My experience with the album

This album— I hold it so close to my heart— is a very important piece of music to me. It is a beautiful emotional, haunting, gut-wrenching, harrowing, story. It allows interpretation in every aspect, the themes, lyrics, and stories specifically. To me, it is practically a manual for how my life has gone so far. It pains me to listen to the album, but it also provides me with comfort. I love the way it draws out emotions, whether they are surface level or have burrowed deep into my subconscious. I’ve written countless poetry pieces inspired by this album, so I thought it would be a great addition to my publication here.

Each part of this series will be about my personal experience and interpretation of each song. My hope is it will really allow me to fully understand the lyrics and how they resonate with me. Also, to put more of my thoughts out into the world. One of the things I love about music, and writing and other forms of art in general, is the meaning behind it. How subjective and personable it is. I know I’m using that word wrong, but I have my own definition of it stuck in my head and don’t care enough to find a synonym. Honestly, personable is one of the words I would use absolutely last to describe Preacher’s Daughter. So, please don’t mind my lack of thought in that description.

In this series, I want to cover each word, each layer of the music, each sound effect. I want to talk about exactly what it means to me. So please, bear with me throughout this process. I hope to post at least one part each day, so if you’re interested please follow along and leave a comment to let me know what you think!

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