I Cannot fly
I am not Jesus
Or even a bird
I am Icarus
And so it seems
My feathers are lead
Faith cannot breathe
And work is dead
And here is the altar
And these my prayers
That crash to the earth
That you put there
I cannot fly
I am not Jesus
Or even a bird
I am Icarus
From this tower of life
From Worry-Tree's bough
As I hold my breath
I take a leap now
But I fall every time
I land on my head
And a shrill small voice
Cries 'Your God is dead'
So I dust myself off
Don't make a fuss
And climb up again,
I am Icarus
I cannot fly
And I'm not Jesus
But almost an angel
I am Icarus
A falling Angel
I am Icarus
M Joseph Burt (01.06.07 with edits from 09.10.19)
The Cushion of The Years (Shield against Apollyon)
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