A son adorned in innocence,
protected by his father's arm.
Could one predict that innocence

would not protect this youth from harm?

Crete has not been kind to them,

though Daedalus molds work of praise.
By donning waxen, crafted wings,
they plan to make their swift escape.


His young child's curiosity
cannot be stilted by his prayer;

for gravity is void of power
and life to him is free of care.


This sprightly soul cannot foresee
his choice to break immortal law
and soar beyond his vessel's might

to prove the foolish mortals wrong.

Crete has not been kind to them,

though Daedalus molds work of praise.
By donning waxen, crafted wings,
they plan to make their swift escape.


As scorching rays of light beam down,
the beads of wax drip down his spine.

His father's caution now is heard,
but nothing alters caution lacked.


Sleep, o' sleep, my loving child
And let your eyes hide from the Sun
If chance your sight met mine again

I'd give my heart, my only one...

And as his wonder crashes down,

a fractured dream is left to die;
for though a hope can be restored,
his mortal body can't survive.


Crete has not been kind to them,
though Daedalus molds work of praise.

By donning waxen, crafted wings,
they plan to make their swift escape.


A momentary wonder once
suspended in the dawn of dreams,
becomes the hijinks of the gods

who hang ambition by the wings. (repeat)

Sleep, o' sleep, my loving child