Wailsong of the Land of Frost

In the cold waste beyond the northernmost silence
Where the sun never rises nor does it set
Wailsong is heard echoing in the distance
A cruel ethereality is in the black starlit sky
Once the flow of the waters has stopped
And all is become as an icy monument to life
That was frozen to death so long ago
All I hear are screams from within myself
Roots of frost, in this land of frost
Once the dream of all hope was lost
And all became as an icy recitation of death
That froze the heart of the wolf and man
Upon a placid non-existential plane
A wailsong is heard, in the darkness
of the long polar but yet inner night