We bribed the sun to sit near Icarus
So we could make more candles
And we used the candles to shed some light
On this vast pink-papered scandal
They needed more cheese for their bread
But then they needed more bread for their cheese
The door slammed in the kitchen and
The windows screamed sweet nothings to the wind
They’ll take you back to the storm
But it’s not so tempestuous and not so big
It’s round and quiet and it echoes myths
A wishing well where all the coins have been stolen by gypsies
So we won’t build ruins anymore
Or let the horse in through the door
Let’s not cry over muddy mounds
But help pick Icarus off the ground
For Chicken and Fiction
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