Agalloch

There are ghosts in every hallway
In every room, behind every door
Peering through every window into the past
Holding onto us in the bitterness of the mire
Leaving a trace of themselves in the spaces in which they hide
...but there are no ghosts here...
There are gods in the wake of every flame
The fire that betroths the coldness of the void
In every wind, every tempest, and every snowfall