Agalloch

Kiss me coldly and drain this life from my lips
Let the cold blood flow on it's own...
Kiss me coldly and fall away from the soul
Long forgotten...
From which of this oak shall I hang myself?
These ebon halls are always dark...
From which frostbitten bough shall I die?
As dark as the winter, as black as her ghastly veil
As cold as her whisper and chilling gown
No corridors of life and beauty
These enchanted halls are stained with the blood of night
Ebon halls gleam as ghosts of a fire dance wickedly across a pantheon of marble