Sweet Icarus, you kindle brighter than the fiery star that burned your waxed wings anew. You burn brighter than all the stars that orbit this dreary night sky. You've descended through the abyss, and you've risen from beyond the ashes. You're glorious in remembrance; as in life, as in death. When dusk shifts to dawn and downs itself beyond the ethers, the stars sink to their knees, merely to be graced by your presence. They've died for this glory, and they'll die a billion times more.
