No one will make it to the sun.
Don’t beat yourself or cry.
We all fall sometimes, Icarus.
Wax bells will never ring.
The Sea swallows us easily For our tears fit right in.
The bright eyed mariner has told us of the Sea and the Glaring sun that baked lips black.
So frightful was the beating sun that none could speak its name;
How horrible it truly was, that no man or child could
reveal the secrets hidden there.