There I sat upon a rock
Engulfed in sorrow, engulfed in shock
Looking out on miles of water
I am speechless with grief
My flight was much too brief
My invention culprit to my son’s slaughter

And what of my wings, feathers and wax
Futile invention, strapped to our backs
I am to blame for his death
And what of our plans, Icarus and me
All I ever wanted was for him to be free
Now the sea has taken his breath

I beg and I plead for him to keep a steady wing
Fly low to avoid the fiery thing
That harsh sun that would melt his wings
But his youthful and immature will
attached to a flying thrill
Has played Icarus like strings

To recall the undeniable pleasure of flight
It is hard to blame Icarus for his spite
My advice he did not heed
To test the limits, a boy hardly in his teens
Now understands just what impossible means
His want of glory left him falling at impossible speed

Now I am left to mourn
To curse the day I was born
I rue my misfortune on this deserted island
South Greece lies only a few hours ahead
But how can I fly with this new dread?
The invention Of Icarus’ death was of my own hand

And damn the gods for the sorrow they have cast!
To make this day my beloved son’s last
My plea is one the world must hear
How can I go on, live free
With my son drowned at the bottom of the sea?
How can I live on as the faulty engineer?