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You Were But A Ghost In My Arms (Agalloch)

Like snowfall, you cry a silent storm Your tears paint rivers on this oaken wall. . . Amber nectar, misery ichor . . .cascading in streams of hallowed form For each stain, a forsaken shadow

You are the lugubrious spirit Etched in the oak of wonder You are the sullen voice and silent storm

Each night I lay Awakened by her shivering silent voice From the shapes in the corridor walls. It pierces the solitude… read more

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