Text:
Agalloch Marrow Of The Spirit

The jagged lines in these wooden hands Speak of a silent aeon below the depths Of an austere ebon tide For centuries kingdoms have risen Upon the ancient

Written in the waters... [voice of the dead:] "Our shadows seep into the dusk like cranes that melt into the pool; a black lake in which they descend

They escaped the weight of darkness to forge a path into the marrow of the spirit They chose to drown in a deeper vacancy an emptiness that quells the