Inside the City of Glass

Holy Mother of the simple one When you smile at me you bring me down You betray your thoughts All your prayers too low Now out of debt, you speak in tongues And out of bread, your work is doneAnd your dream, absolves And your path, dissolve And your dream, absolve And your path, dissolve [...]

Like snowfall, you cried a silent storm No tears stain this dust in my hands But from this ashen gray, her voice still Whispers my name. . . Agalloch – You Were But A Ghost In My Arms (Foto: Llucmajor, Mallorca. 2005)