PhoenicarusGather your wits as youve gathered these feathers, son Icarus Spoke DaedalusClearly he was mad enough to send his heir flying as wellDown to hellBoth moon and trepidation had waned since pens and wax went upNow he raised his cupTo life, to freedom, to us, he his gesture harshly graced As he sun-ward facedA Child of his fathers device, red and golden in the rising sunHelp he shun To shoulder that atrocity against natures chosen path - a pair of wingsAs legend singsBar his fathers guidance and the flapping beatings, he did it himselfThrown off the shelf At first he fe