The cold you hear in slow-moving guitar slides, baritone growls, and ghostly harmonies. That’s the storm The Marshlanders conjure on “My Lord Jesus,” the closing track on the Marsheaux EP “Fit for Crows.” It is a brooding sonic landscape that descends upon you like low fog on a swampy midnight road.

The Marshlanders describe themselves as blues-goth-grunge; for once, the tag sticks like a battered leather jacket. “My Lord Jesus” inhabits this array of influences with spooky grace. And that she has done: It’s a song that doesn’t merely play and endlessly haunts. Grounded by a smoldering guitar groove, the track coheres around a low-slung baritone vocal that’s equal parts grit and soul, met with soaring soprano harmonies that slice through like an anguished wail in the night.

Slide guitar licks writhe in a subcutaneous background, suggesting something primal and restive. Throw in some weeping strings and the soft moan of a laid-back Hammond organ, and you’ve got a soundscape that is equal parts swamp ritual and sacred hymn. It’s music, sure, but it’s a séance with your darker self to be approached with a cold ale and an open mind.

Even though “My Lord Jesus” is the last song, it seems less like an endpoint and more like a portal. It peels back the curtain on a grander vision, one in which Southern Gothic storytelling makes love to a holy desolation. You don’t simply listen, and you go inside.

The Marshlanders‘ debut album, “Fit for Crows,” establishes Them as something beyond just a band; here , they are mood conjurers. There’s courage in their brooding, resisting a catchy hook for something weightier, something that stays.

“My Lord Jesus” may not be radio-safe, but that’s the idea. It’s for the shadows, backroom bars, and fractured churches of the mind. It’s the sound of salvation with dirt under its nails. So turn on the lantern if you’re ready to draft something darker. The Marshlanders have lit the lantern for you. Just don’t expect to leave it intact.