Agalloch

Here I sit at the fire
Liquor's bitter flames warm my languid soul
Here I drink alone and remember
A graven life, the stain of her memory
In this cup, love's poison
For love is the poison of life
Tip the cup, feed the fire,
And forget about useless hope. . .
Lost in the desolation of love
The passions we reap and sow
Lost in the desolation of life
This path that we walk. . .
Here's to love, the sickness
The great martyr of the soul