This is the colour of sadness and the sky, a melancholy lie in disguise that can wagon through death like a martyr, only fairy tales and history make living look harder.

This is the colour of freedom and the proud, for only a boy could touch the clouds that swell and garner, icarus laughed as he fell to the ground. Only fairytales and history make living look harder.

This is the colour of envy. Should we all have to die to touch the hands of a deity as well? Icarus puked his blushing lungs out amoung flames and floating feathers and prayers and hell. Envy isnt as loud behind the bells and harpers. Only fairytales and history make living look harder.