The Graver Wound At North's Wall

I've buried fifty hearts, my tears within ...become the flood to drown me. Epitaph of the graves of north's wall, calling the scent of past and true, felling my smile, once and for all; as a walking tomb of compassion with a crumbled pall. The wind is biting, the carrying of flood and waters blessed with tears, I feel my heart cease beating and the weeping in my ears. The cage has burst it's plumbing, the pain of sorrow overwhelm, the sun has ceased it's shining and I weep beneath the helm. The betrayal of humanity, the death dismay and poverty, the screams of utter empathy and the burden left to bare; I can't hide it anywhere. Thus I drown beneath my sixth, my sixth and final heart, I drink my tears in such a mug as never before been drought; the bitter taste is eerie and the flood of tears comes raw, lest I wake to cease my breathing and drown inside the pond. The wound is ten times bigger, the wound that dissolves my form, the wound is ten times graver and fatality becomes the norm. Let me pray for safety, for all of you out there, I do not need your pity, I'm already dead and bare. I'll pray for your happiness and health and much, much more, I'll carry all your burdens within me evermore. The wound of north's wall calls me and tells me it is time, for me to part this living realm and leave my woes behind. ...But I will keep them always, fore there are stories left to tell and I await an audience, ...with curiosity, to whom I can instill; ...your hearts and dreams.