Agalloch

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 hands of a god
once severed for the world's birth
a sacrifice to the storms of life
now darkness is thine sanctum
Temples of magma steam across the grey
The arc that transcends my iconic pride
For I am not an ageless god, no, I am imprisoned by time
These ancient palms shall once again be mine
Hands...hands that lift the oceans
to vertical depths above the stars
For when I die, the universe will die with me
and all will be lost forever gone